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day  indicated  below: 


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A    NATURALIST    IN    HIMALAYA 


IN    THE    HIMALAYA. 


Frottlts-t>iecs 


A   NATURALIST   IN 
HIMALAYA 


BY 


R.    W.    G.    HINGSTON,    M.C.,    M.B., 


CAPTAIN,   INDIAN    MKDICAL  SERVICE. 


WITH  PLATES  AND  TEXT  FIGURES 


BOSTON 

SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS. 


PREFACE 

This  volume  is  what  Its  name  suggests.  It  is  a 
record  of  observations  in  natural  science.  It  is  an 
endeavour  to  gather  many  and  varied  facts  into  one 
common  theme.  The  observations  which  it  describes 
have  been  collected  at  intervals  between  the  years 
1914  and  1916  in  the  Himalayan  valley  of  Hazara. 
They  have  been  made  slowly,  gathered  intermittently 
and  then  arranged  with  some  attempt  at  order  so  as 
to  appear  in  a  collected  whole. 

My  narrative  will  fall  into  different  parts  in  accord- 
ance as   my  observations   refer  to  different   forms   of 
animal  life.      I  will  commence  with  a  brief  description 
of  the    valley    itself    in    order    that    the    reader    may 
appreciate  the  more  striking  geographical  features  of 
the  district  in  which  the  subsequent  observations  were 
made.      In  the  next  four  chapters   I   will  discuss   the 
habits,    instincts    and    general    economy    of    certain 
species  of  ants   that  are  to  be  found  everywhere   in 
the  valley.      I  will  then  pass  to  a  series  of  observa- 
tions on  the  natural  history  of  spiders,  especially  with 
regard  to  the  wonderful  geometrical  powers  employed 
in   the  construction  of  their  circular  snares.      In  the 
tenth,  eleventh  and  twelfth  chapters  I  have  collected 
a  number  of  varied  facts  and  sucroestions  that  relate 
to  the  economy  of  insect  life.      In  the  thirteenth  and 
fourteenth  chapters  I  have  discussed  some  matters  of 


62160 


vi  PREFACE 

interest  with  respect  to  the  mammals  and  birds  of  the 
valley,  while  in  the  last  chapter  I  have  endeavoured 
to  describe  in  simple  language  the  essential  features 
of  its  rocky  structure  and  the  sequence  of  changes 
through  which  it  has  passed  in  the  long  lapse  of 
CTeolooical  time. 

My  interest  has  been  chiefly  directed  towards  the 
habits  of  animals,  especially  in  so  far  as  they  relate 
to  the  psychology  of  instinct.  The  book  contains 
nothing  of  a  pure  systematic  nature.  My  object  is 
to  give  some  impression  of  the  more  striking  mani- 
festations of  life  that  are  to  be  seen  in  a  Himalayan 
valley.  So  many  of  my  observations  are  concerned 
with  insects  and  other  humble  forms  that  it  may  be 
thought  I  have  paid  them  undue  attention  when  com- 
pared with  my  record  of  the  mammals  and  birds. 
But  it  needs  only  the  slightest  insight  to  the  works 
of  Nature  to  see  how  wonderful  she  is  even  in  her 
very  simplest  types. 

I  have  had  drawings  made  of  those  species  to  which 
I  have  given  most  attention,  and  trust  that  these  will 
add  interest  to  the  subject  matter  of  the  text.  The 
few  photographs  of  scenery  which  I  have  introduced 
do  not  in  all  cases  bear  directly  on  the  chapters  in 
which  they  appear.  Their  object  is  to  give  the 
reader  some  impression  of  the  rugged  features  of  the 
Himalaya. 

I  cannot  expect  that  my  record  is  likely  to  interest 
any  but  those  who  have  a  special  taste  for  Natural 
History,  and  have  bestowed  some  little  observation 
on  it.  Nevertheless  I  have  endeavoured  to  express 
myself  in  untechnical  language,  confident  that  a  sub- 
ject, because  it  is  intelligible,  is  none  the  less  scientific 


PREFACE  vii 

or  exact.  I  have  not  tried  to  escape  from  theory,  nor 
have  I  refrained  from  forming  an  hypothesis  where  it 
has  seemed  to  be  justified  by  facts.  The  volumes  of 
reference  at  my  disposal  have  been  few  ;  and  indeed 
if  my  work  has  any  merit,  it  must  rest  in  the  fact  that 
almost  all  it  contains  has  been  taken  not  from  the 
works  of  others  but  rather  from  what  Nature  in  her 
goodness  has  thought  it  fitting  to  disclose. 

The  Author. 

April  ip20. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER   I 

A   HIMALAYAN   VALLEY 

PAGE 

Definition  of  Himalaya — Appearance  of  the  range — District  of   Ha/^ara — 

General  features  of  Hazara — Its  valleys,  hills  and  forests      .         .         .  i 

CHAPTER   n 

HARVESTING   ANTS 

General  habits — Appearance  of  ant — Sexual  forms — Collection  of  seeds — 
Effect  of  heat,  cold,  shade,  rain,  darkness — Cessation  of  toil — Division 
of  labour    ............        ii 

CHAPTER   HI 

SENSES   AND   INSTINCTS   OF   HARVESTING   ANTS 

Sense  of  smell — Sense  of  direction — Communication — Play  and  sport — 
Peacefulness — Mode  of  defence — Emotions — Economy — Migration — 
Pliability  of  instinct — Aberration  of  instinct — Folly  of  ants         .         .       24 

CHAPTER   IV 

CARNIVOROUS   ANTS 

Myrmecocysfus  setipes — General  habits — Division  of  labour — Food — Sense 
of  smell — Attitude  of  abdomen — Absence  of  sympathy — Mode  of 
founding  new  colony — Intelligence — Folly •       44 

CHAPTER   V 

COMMUNICATING   AND   OTHER   ANTS 

Phidole  indica — Mode  of  attack — Power  of  communication — Experiments 
on  faculty  of  communication — Sense  of  smell — Every  individual  in 
nest  differs — Division  of  labour — Attitude  of  Cremasto^aster — Migra- 
tions of  Acanthokpis — Sexual  forms  of  Camponotus     ....       60 

CHAPTER   VI 

GEOMETRICAL   SPIDERS 

Home  of  spider — Species  under  discussion — Constitution  of  colonies — 
Construction  of  snare — Emission  and  structure  of  the  first  line — 
Mechanism  in  construction  of  radii — Mechanism  in  hub — Mechanism 
in  temporary  spiral — Mechanism  in  viscid  spiral  .....       82 

ix 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER   VII 

KUKTHER    OliSERVATlONS   ON   THE  C.EOMETRICAL   SNARE 

FAGE 

Ultimate  fate  of  temporary  spiral — Reversal  of  spiral — Reason  of  reversal 
of  spiral — Example  of  plasticity  of  instinct — Spider's  power  to  estimate 
tension — Delicacy  of  sense  of  touch — Industry  of  Aratiats — Mode  of 
emission  of  fdamenl — Economy  of  spider  and  destruction  of  snare — 
Perfection  and  imperfection  in  snare    .......     io8 

CHAPTER   VIII 

THE   INSTINCT  OF  SPIDERS 

Spiders  and  weather — Force  of  instinct — Repair  of  well — Experiments  to 
indicate  the  unswerving  force  of  instinct — Slavery  to  instinct — Trans- 
ference to  other  snares — Spider  not  entangled  in  its  own  snare — Mode 
of  escape — Protective  resemblance — Special  senses  of  spiders       .         .124 

CHAPTER   IX 

SHEET-BUILDING    SPIDERS 

Habits  of  spider  and  character  of  snare — Refusal  to  spin  in  stormy  weather 
— Mode  of  capturing  prey — Injection  of  poison — Sense  of  touch — 
Function  of  pedipalps — Force  of  instinct — Shamming  death  in  spiders 
and  insects — Physical  properties  of  web — Pertinacity  of  Artana  .         .150 

CHAPTER  X 

OBSERVATIONS  ON    INSECT   LIFE. 

Mountain  dust — Inhabitants  of  pools — Carnivorous  flies — Water-boatmen — 
Struggle  for  life — Mentality  of  fishes — Habits  of  Ves/>a  orientalis — 
Nest  of  Polistes — Depredations  of  Vespa  viagnifua — Mimicry  in 
humble-bees — Humble-bees  and  flowers — Habits  of  leaf-cutting  bees — 
Instinct  of  mud-wasp — Instinct  of  digger-wasps 164 

CHAPTER  XI 

BUTTERFLIES,    MOTHS  AND   CICADAS 

Swallow-tails  of  Harara — Sexual  display — Protective  coloration  in  butter- 
flies— Butterflies  resembling  leaves — Protectively-coloured  moths — 
Enemies  of  butterflies  and  moths — Instinctive  fear  of  enemies — Rainy 
season  in  Hazara — Habits  and  musical  organs  of  Cicada       .         .         .     196 

CHAPTER   XII 

GLOW-WORMS,    TERMITES   AND   SHELLS 

Habits  and  luminosity  of  glow-worms — Their  contests  with  snails — Flight 
and  destruction  of  termites — Instincts  associated  with  their  distribution 
anil  preservation — Shedding  of  wings — Habits  of  ant-lions — Notes  on 
the  dispersal  of  shells .         .         .         .         .         .        .         .         .         .218 

CHAPTER   XIII 

OBSERVATIONS    ON    MAMMALS 

Comparative  scarcity  of  mammals — Observations  on  flying  squirrel — Habits 
and  instincts  of  Himalayan  monkeys — Emotional  expression  in  the 
leopard — Contentment — Fear  —  Anger — Distress — Eagerness — Atten- 
tion— Affection 239 


CONTENTS  xi 

CHAPTER   XIV 

ORNITHOLOGICAL   OBSERVATIONS 

PAGE 

General  migration  of  birds — Distribution  and  habits  of  bulhuls — Plasticity 
of  instinct — Paradise  flycatchers — The  black  drongo — Habits  of  the 
purple  sunbird — Nesting  instinct  of  the  whistling  thrush,  the  bnrbct, 
and  the  Kashmir  martin — Troops  of  insectivorous  birds — Tumbling  of 
birds — Soaring  fhght  of  birds       ........     258 

CHAPTER   XV 

GEOLOGICAL   SKETCH 

General  features  of  Hazara — Central  granite — Pahuozoic  slates — Infra- 
Triassic  series — Triassic  limestones — ^Jurassic  and  Cretaceous — Eocene 
Nummulitics — Vegetation  of  Tertiaries — Summary  of  geological  changes 
— Movements  of  sand  in  a  mountain  stream  .....     279 

Index ....     297 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


•a(;e 

'rontispiece 

Facing 

4 

•         J » 

13 

. 

24 

• 

44 

•         » t 

60 

•            • 

68 

Facin<; 

88 

88 

IN   THE   HIMALAYA 

MAP  OF  WESTERN   HIMALAYA       .... 

THE   HARVESTING  ANT  AND   THE   CARNIVOROUS  ANT 

A    VALLEY    IN    THE    HIMALAYA       .... 

A   MOUNTAIN    VIEW    IN    THE    HIMALAYA 

COMMON   ANTS   OF  HAZARA  .... 

EXPERIMENT   WITH    COMMUNICATING   ANT    . 

SPIDERS   OF   HAZARA  ..... 

DIAGRAM    OF   THE    PARTS    OF   A    GEOMETRICAL   SNARE 

LOSS    OF    PARALLELISM    RESULTING    FROM    DIVISION    OF    ONE    TURN    OF 

VISCID    SPIRAL   IN    ONE   SEGMENT  ......       I02 

LOSS    OF    PARALLELISM   TIESULTING    FROM    DIVISION   OF    ONE    TURN    OF 

VISCID   SPIRAL   IN    TWO    SEGMENTS  ......       IO3 

DIAGRAM   OF   REVERSAL  OF   SPIRAL IIO 

REVERSAL   OF   SPIRAL    IN    AN    ECCENTRIC   SNARE  .  .  .  .Ill 

THE   HEART   OF  THE   HIMALAYA  .....  Facing      I24 

THE   PEAKS   UNDER   FRESH   SNOW  .  .  .  .  .  .       ,,  164 

CICADA  {Platylomia  hrevis)  .  .  .-.  .  .  .  .212 

DRUM    OF   CICADA         .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .215 

DIAGRAM    TO   SHOW   ESSENTIAL   PARTS   OF  MUSICAL  ORGAN   OF  CICADA      2l6 

THE   FLYING-SQUIRREL Facing     24 1 

THE    BENGAL    MONKEY    AND     EMOTIONAL     EXPRESSION     IN     THE 

LEOPARD.       (l)   CONTENTMENT „  245 

EMOTIONAL  EXPRESSION  IN  THE  LEOPARD.     (2)   FEAR.     (3)  ANGER      ,,  248 

EMOTIONAL     EXPRESSION     IN     THE     LEOPARD.  (4)      DISTRESS. 

(5)     EAGERNESS ,  252 

EMOTIONAL    EXPRESSION     IN     THE    LEOPARD.  (6)     ATTENTION. 

(7)    AFFECTION     ...........  256 

THE   INDIAN   PARADISE   FLYCATCHER   AND   NEST  .  .  .      ,,  262 

THE    BROWN-BACKED    INDIAN   ROBIN   AND   NEST  .  .  .       ,,  267 

xii 


A  NATURALIST  IN  HIMALAYA 

CHAPTER  I 

A    HIMALAYAN    VALLEY 

Definition  of  Himalaya — Appearance  of  the  range — District  of  Hazara — 
General  features  of  Hazara — Its  valleys,  hills  and  forests. 

It  would  be  no  easy  problem  to  define  the  Himalaya, 
the  Abode  of  Snow.  It  is  a  mountain  system  composed 
of  many  ranges  whose  terminations  are  unknown. 
The  southern  and  northern  limits  of  the  system  are 
apparent  at  a  glance.  To  the  south  it  rises  direct 
from  the  plains  of  India ;  to  the  north  it  blends  with 
the  lofty  plateaux  of  Thibet  and  the  Pamir.  But 
where  would  the  geographer  place  its  eastern  and 
western  ends  ?  Thirty  years  ago  he  would  have 
marked  the  line  of  the  Indus  river  as  its  furthest  limit 
to  the  west  and  that  of  the  Brahmaputra  as  its 
termination  in  the  east,  but  such  boundaries  would 
scarcely  hold  to-day.  For  these  are  mere  arbitrary 
limits  that  bear  no  true  relation  to  the  origin  or 
structure  of  the  whole.  These  rivers  have  cut  deep 
clefts  across  the  successive  ranges  ;  they  in  no  sense 
define  or  limit  them.  The  precise  limits  of  the 
Himalaya  are  unknown  ;  the  complex  system  merges 
to  the  west  in  the  mountainous  country  north  of 
Afghanistan  ;  on  the  east  it  is  lost  in  the  unexplored 


2  A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

reo-ions     of     Northern      Burma     and     the     Chinese 
borderland. 

Viewed  from  the  south  the  Himalaya  seems  to  rise 
like  a  sheer  wall  direct  from  the  alluvial  plains  of 
India.  The  snowy  range  is  visible  from  a  great 
distance.  On  a  clear  day  the  white  outline  of  the 
peaks  can  be  seen  over  a  distance  of  1 50  miles,  and 
a  conspicuous  summit  may  display  its  white  crest 
against  the  sky  at  more  than  200  miles  away.  This 
prospect  over  so  vast  a  distance  is  visible  only  on  the 
clearest  day.  Otherwise  the  mountains  are  concealed 
from  view.  The  atmosphere  is  so  often  permeated 
with  a  fine  dust  that  the  vision  of  distant  objects  is 
obscured,  and  the  Himalaya  then  appears,  not  as  a 
white  glistening  line  of  snow,  but  as  a  gloomy  uninvit- 
ing mass  hidden  in  a  veil  of  dust  and  not  unlike  a 
bleak  headland  appearing  through  an  ocean  mist. 

On  approaching  nearer  to  the  mountains  their  lines 
grow  more  firm,  their  summits  more  distinct.  From 
the  level  plain  we  seem  to  gaze  upon  a  rocky  wall. 
We  are  too  close  beneath  the  mass  to  see  the  suc- 
cessive ranges  rising  in  ascending  slopes,  and  the 
confronting  barrier  of  the  lower  hills  conceals  the 
scene  of  chaos  that  lies  behind.  The  mountains  seem 
to  stand  like  a  sheer  precipice  towering  above  an 
alluvial  bed,  and  to  limit  the  broad  expanse  of  plain 
with  an  almost  perpendicular  wall.  It  is  the  sudden 
contrast  between  plain  and  mountain  that  is  the 
striking  feature  in  the  landscape.  Their  junction 
more  resembles  the  face  of  a  great  cleft  than  the 
denuded  slope  of  a  gentle  fold.  The  contrast  is 
abrupt.  The  eye  moves  unchallenged  over  the  vast 
expanse  of  plain   till   it  meets   the   sheer   Himalayan 


A   HIMALAYAN   VALLEY  3 

wall.      It  is  like  gazing  from  a  boundless  ocean  on  to 
a  rocky  coast. 

Valleys  lead  into  this  mountain  barrier  and  penetrate 
the  snowy  range.  They  mark  the  course  of  the  main 
rivers  along  which  the  drainage  of  the  system  flows. 
I  pass  to  one  of  these  valleys  at  the  western  end  of 
the  Himalaya  close  to  where  the  Indus  river  emerges 
on  to  the  plains.  This  is  the  valley  that  leads  into  the 
district  of  Hazara,  a  narrow  tongue-shaped  strip  of 
British  territory  projecting  northward  into  the  ranges. 
I  take  it  as  a  typical  example  of  a  portion  of  the 
Western  Himalaya  and  will  consider  certain  aspects  of 
its  natural  history  in  some  little  detail. 

This  district  of  Hazara  is  a  long  and  slender  wedge 
of  British  soil  driven  in  between  two  independent 
territories.  It  extends  from  33°  44'  to  35°  10'  N.  and 
72°  33'  to  74°  6'  E.  Its  total  length  from  north  to 
south  is  about  120  miles,  and  its  width  varies  from  56 
miles  at  the  base  to  15  miles  at  the  termination  of  the 
wedge.  This  strip  of  land  has  definite  boundaries. 
To  the  south  its  foot-hills  sink  into  the  plains  of  the 
Punjab ;  to  the  north  it  rises  into  massive  peaks 
17,000  feet  in  height  that  blend  with  the  still  loftier 
summits  of  Western  Kashmir.  Its  lateral  boundaries 
are  distinct.  On  the  west  it  is  limited  by  the  Indus 
river  and  the  country  of  the  independent  frontier 
tribes  ;  on  the  east  it  joins  the  territory  of  Kashmir. 

The  upheaval  of  the  Himalaya  has  involved  the 
district  of  Hazara.  It  has  raised  its  surface  into  a 
system  of  mountain  ranges  that  course  across  it  in 
parallel  folds.  From  the  north-east  to  the  south-west 
these  folds  traverse  it  in  successive  tiers.  The  lower 
ones  to  the  south  are  clothed  in  forest ;  the  higher  are 


4  A    NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

draped  in  glaciers  and  snows.  All  are  hewn  into 
diverse  forms  and  are  peopled  with  many  and  varied 
species.  It  is  this  great  upheaval  that  has  given  the 
wonderful  variety  to  the  landscape,  that  has  moulded 
the  district  into  mountains  of  every  shape,  carved  it 
into  valleys  of  every  stage  of  growth,  and  has  bestowed 
on  it  every  degree  of  temperature  from  the  oppressive 
warmth  of  the  sub-tropical  valley  to  the  cold  of  the 
perpetual  snow. 

The  general  features  of  the  country  are  best  seen 
from  the  summit  of  a  hill  seven  or  eight  thousand  feet 
in  height.  A  wide  expanse  of  landscape  is  then 
exposed  to  view.  Far  away  to  the  north-east  the 
mountains  of  Kashmir  rise  aloft  in  snowy  peaks  and 
ranges.  Their  ice-clad  summits  rise  in  a  bare  glisten- 
ing mass  above  the  green  wooded  slopes  of  the  nearer 
hills,  but  their  distance  is  so  great  that  it  is  impossible 
to  appreciate  their  true  magnificence  and  the  stupen- 
dous scale  on  which  they  are  built.  The  western 
boundary  lies  closer  to  us.  It  is  dark,  dreary  and 
uninviting.  Rugged  black  ridges  of  inhospitable 
mountain  rise  upward  from  the  Indus.  Pine  forests 
cover  many  of  its  slopes  ;  narrow  paths  wind  along  its 
spurs,  and  on  the  peaks  and  projections  of  its  ridges 
can  be  seen  the  block-houses  of  stone  that  mark  the 
last  outposts  of  the  empire.  This  is  the  frontier. 
The  main  ridge  is  the  barrier  between  British  territory 
and  the  land  of  the  independent  Afghan  tribes. 

To  the  south  the  eye  sinks  down  on  the  vast  plains 
of  India.  Like  a  sea  they  extend  outwards  from  the 
mountains  and  fade  into  the  far  horizon.  Hundreds 
of  miles  of  imbroken  plain  expand  and  a  whole  country 
is  spread  out  beneath  the  view.     Everything  is  dwarfed 


MAP    OF    WESTERN    HIMALAYA. 


[Face  p.  4.] 


A  HIMALAYAN   VALLEY  5 

to  miniature.  Seeming  clumps  of  greenery  are  forests, 
villages  are  cities,  and  glistening  threads  are  noble 
rivers.  All  are  dimmed  beneath  a  haze  of  shimmering 
heat.  Further  and  further  we  trace  this  sea  of  land 
into  the  hot  mists  that  envelop  it,  till,  in  the  far 
horizon,  sky  joins  plain  through  the  quivering  haze 
and  heaven  and  earth  seem  one. 

Such  is  the  distant  prospect  from  a  peak  in  Southern 
Hazara.  The  nearer  view  is  a  less  imposing  one. 
The  sub-Himalaya  that  stands  around  is  built  on  a 
less  rugged  scale.  Peaks  and  ridges  of  eight  to  ten 
thousand  feet  in  height  rise  from  broad  fertile  valleys 
four  to  five  thousand  feet  below.  In  parallel  ranges 
they  sweep  across  the  country.  The  higher  slopes  are 
clothed  in  dense  forests  of  conifers,  but  lower  down 
the  dark  brown  rocks  support  but  little  verdure  and 
project  in  bare  unsightly  masses  through  a  rank 
mountain  grass.  Terraces  creep  up  the  sides  of  the 
narrow  glens  or  rise  like  giant  steps  up  the  rounded 
mountain  spurs  that  stretch  out  into  the  valleys. 

The  cultivated  tracts  lie  far  beneath  nestling  amongst 
the  hills.  As  fertile  plains  they  spread  themselves 
before  the  eye.  In  the  spring,  when  clothed  in  crops, 
these  valleys  are  beautifully  green  and  shine  with  a 
dazzling  yellow  from  the  brilliant  fields  of  mustard. 
But  in  the  autumn,  when  the  harvest  is  saved,  the 
green  and  gold  expanse  is  replaced  by  a  dismal  brown. 
The  parched  hills  then  merge  into  the  duller  plains  ; 
the  forests  stand  out  in  pleasing  contrast,  and  here  and 
there  dotted  over  the  uninviting  valleys  are  the  ceme- 
teries marked  by  little  clumps  of  trees,  still  green  or 
fading  into  autumn  yellow,  like  oases  in  a  desert.  The 
art  of  man   is   evident   throughout   the  scene.      Flat- 


6  A  NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

roofed  villages,  all  facing  southward,  stand  scattered 
through  the  valleys  ;  others  for  protection  form  a 
stronghold  on  the  summit  of  a  low  hill  or  on  the  ridge 
of  a  rocky  buttress  extending  outward  from  the 
mountain  side.  The  tiers  of  fertile  terraces  that  climb 
the  flanks  of  the  hills  indicate  the  industry  of  the 
people.  Not  content  with  the  alluvial  plains,  they 
have  followed  the  narrow  streams  up  the  mountain 
sides  and  forced  the  cultivation  into  every  nook  and 
cranny  on  their  margins.  They  have  employed  much 
labour  in  this  work.  The  terraces  are  irrigated  by  an 
ingenious  system  of  stony  channels  that  convey  the 
water  from  a  mountain  stream.  Their  isolated  houses 
of  mud  nestle  in  sheltered  (jlens  or  hide  in  forest 
clearings,  or  stand  perched  on  mountain  spurs  at 
almost  inaccessible  heights. 

In  the  bed  of  every  valley  is  the  river,  seen  from 
the  mountain  summit  like  a  winding  silver  thread. 
They  glisten  in  their  slow  sinuous  course  as  they 
wind  throuci'h  the  fertile  land  or  with  almost  torrential 
force  rush  over  their  stony  beds.  All  are  tributaries 
of  the  Indus  that,  far  away  to  the  west,  like  a  narrow 
glistening  streak,  hides  beneath  the  rugged  mountains 
and  separates  this  country  from  that  of  the  wild  tribes 
beyond. 

I  made  many  short  journeys  into  the  surrounding 
mountains,  climbed  the  hills,  explored  the  rivers,  the 
forest  and  the  glens,  but  could  never  tire  of  standing 
on  a  wooded  peak  and  gazing  on  the  massive  ranges 
to  the  north,  contemplating  the  endless  southerly  plains 
or  wondering  at  the  stupendous  scale  on  which  Nature 
has  built  this  rugged  land  and  the  beauty  with  which 
she  has  clothed  it. 


A   HIMALAYAN   VALLEY  7 

The  main  bulk  of  Southern  Hazara  is  composed  of 
Tertiary  limestone  elevated  into  hills  some  eight  thou- 
sand feet  in  height.  In  bulky  masses  they  raise  their 
ridges  high  over  the  fertile  valleys.  Encircling  their 
broad  waists  is  a  natural  girdle  which  defines  the  dark 
forests  of  conifer  that  densely  clothe  their  summits 
from  the  barren  slopes  below.  It  is  a  pleasant  recrea- 
tion to  wander  from  the  deep  valleys  upward  over  the 
treeless  mountain  zone  into  these  dark  Himalayan 
forests.  The  murky  valleys  are  soon  forgotten  as  we 
ascend  to  cooler  heights.  We  come  upon  the  treeless 
zone.  It  is  green  with  long  mountain  grass  through 
which  peep  the  blue  bosses  of  the  limestone.  As  we 
ascend  higher  we  meet  the  forest  of  conifers,  first  a 
few  dwarfed  and  scattered  pines  that  struggle  to  exist 
a  thousand  feet  below  the  forest.  At  six  thousand 
feet  we  leave  behind  the  treeless  slopes  and  ascend 
into  the  gloomy  woods.  At  the  very  outskirts  we  are 
greeted  by  birds  of  brilliant  colour.  Green  parrots, 
shrieking  as  though  in  wild  alarm,  sweep  high  above 
the  trees  ;  perched  over  a  torrent  is  a  verditer  fly- 
catcher clothed  in  a  most  lovely  blue,  softening  under 
different  shades  of  light  into  emerald  or  turquoise  ; 
and  above  us,  flitting  from  pine  to  pine  as  if  rejoicing 
in  its  unequalled  brilliancy,  is  the  fiery  scarlet  of  the 
minivet.  It  is  mainly  the  birds  that  beautify  these 
forests  ;  their  many  varieties,  their  splendid  colours, 
their  striking  contrast  with  the  duller  species  of  the 
valley,  make  these  pine  woods  an  ornithological 
paradise. 

We  penetrate  deeper  into  the  forest  under  the  shade 
of  giant  conifers.  The  woods  are  very  peaceful.  A 
sharp,  cool  air  invigorates  the    body  relaxed   by  the 


8  A   NATURALIST   IN   HIjMALAYA 

damp  heat.  On  every  side  stand  pines  and  firs  of 
enormous  bulk  and  stature.  The  blue  pine  and  silver 
fir,  intermingled  with  the  spruce  and  deodar,  clothe 
the  hillside  in  a  dark  green.  The  colour  is  softened 
by  a  lighter  vegetation  mainly  composed  of  the  cherry, 
ilex,  chestnut  and  sycamore.  The  trees  drip  with 
moisture.  The  sun  is  dimmed  by  their  broad  expanse; 
all  life  is  still  beneath  their  looming  shade.  Tiny 
flowers  of  every  tint  raise  their  heads  above  the 
tangled  undergrowth,  some  of  the  only  spots  of  colour 
in  the  gloomy  scene.  We  climb  higher  and  penetrate 
deeper  into  the  forest.  The  gloom  deepens  and  active 
life  seems  to  be  absent,  but  it  is  only  lost  in  the 
immensity  of  the  scale.  The  birds  are  scattered 
through  the  ocean  of  verdure  and  are  hidden  in  the 
lofty  trees.  Living  creatures  in  reality  swarm  in  the 
dark  forest.  Peer  into  every  mossy  nook,  search 
amongst  the  ferny  dells,  break  asunder  the  dead, 
crumbling  tree-trunks,  and  thousands  of  living  crea- 
tures will  be  revealed  to  view.  Troops  of  monkeys 
go  crashing  through  the  trees.  Woodpeckers  of 
brilliant  plumage  clamber  nimbly  up  the  giant  conifers 
or  sweep  through  open  glades  in  long  undulating 
flight.  Flocks  of  titmice  hang  upon  the  branches, 
doves  rise  in  alarm  from  the  green  undergrowth, 
beautiful  blue  magpies  flutter  heavily  from  tree  to  tree, 
the  hills  re-echo  to  the  low  call  of  the  cuckoo  and  the 
sweet  note  of  the  whistling-thrush,  or  the  nuthatch 
chops  and  hammers  on  the  leafless  top  of  an  old 
gnarled  pine.  In  every  dark  recess  spiders  have  hung 
their  pendent  webs  or  have  spread  from  branch  to 
branch  their  inimitable  snares ;  beneath  the  stones 
they  seek  a  shelter  or   chase   their  victims  over  the 


A   HIMALAYAN   VALLEY  9 

moist  ground.  If  numbers  govern,  then  the  spiders 
rule  the  forest.  Shake  the  branches  of  the  conifers 
and  a  cloud  of  tiny  flies  are  awakened  from  their 
slumber  and  flutter  out  into  the  day.  The  forest 
teems  with  active  life  if  we  could  but  see  it ;  it  is 
hidden  from  our  view  in  the  vast  immensity  of  the 
scene. 

Over  all  there  reigns  at  times  a  strange  uncanny 
silence.  No  wind  rustles  in  the  dark  pines,  the  distant 
twitter  of  a  bird  but  seldom  greets  the  ear  ;  the  one 
sound  that  breaks  the  solitude  is  the  low  rumble  of 
the  mountain  brook  as  a  thousand  feet  below  it  leaps 
from  rock  to  rock  in  an  endless  succession  of  torrents 
and  cascades.  When  evening  approaches  the  forest 
grows  still  more  peaceful  and  sublime.  The  setting 
sun  at  times  glows  with  a  rich  orange  tint,  and,  as  its 
dying  rays  steal  through  the  leafy  chinks,  the  foliage 
glistens  with  every  shade  of  vernal.  The  silence 
deepens,  but  the  rippling  brooks  sing  louder  through 
the  trees,  and  as  the  first  stars  peep  through  the 
canopy  of  heaven  the  majesty  of  the  Himalayan 
forests  sinks  into  a  perfect  peace  and  solitude. 

Such  is  a  very  brief  description  of  the  general 
features  of  Hazara.  It  is  a  necessary  introduction  to 
the  study  of  its  life.  I  never  had  an  opportunity  of 
visiting  the  northern  and  massive  extremity  of  this 
geographical  wedge,  but  for  years  explored  over  and 
over  again  the  valleys,  gorges  and  dense  forest-clad 
hills  that  trend  gently  to  the  south.  For  the  naturalist 
it  is  in  an  interesting  little  corner  of  the  world.  Here 
each  spring  he  will  see  the  long  stream  of  migrant 
birds  moving  northward  by  slow  degrees  from  the 
stifling  plains  of  the  peninsula  to  the  breeding-grounds 


10         A  NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

of  Siberia ;  and  each  autumn  he  will  greet  their  sure 
return.  He  will  sec  a  smaller  host  of  local  migfrants 
which  in  the  cold  of  winter  descend  into  the  valleys 
and  in  summer  ascend  to  the  higher  and  cooler  hills. 
In  the  glens,  the  fields,  the  gardens,  the  woods  he  will 
find  insects  numerous  aijd  full  of  interest,  and  many 
a  happy  hour  he  might  spend  with  the  living  creatures 
of  the  pools  and  streams.  Fortunate  is  he  who  can 
spend  some  years  amongst  the  mountains  of  Southern 
Hazara  and  amongst  the  living  beings  whose  natural 
history  I  shall  endeavour  to  describe. 


CHAPTER    II 

HARVESTING     ANTS 

General  habits — Appearance  of  ant — Sexual  forms — Collection  of  seeds — 
Effect  of  heat,  cold,  shade,  rain,  darkness — Cessation  of  toil — 
Division  of  labour. 

I  WILL  commence  my  record  of  the  natural  history  of 
this  valley  with  an  account  of  the  habits  and  instincts 
of  that  common  and  conspicuous  ant,  Messor  barbariis. 
In  all  places,  at  moderate  elevations,  this  harvester 
pursues  its  labour.  On  the  dusty  roads,  in  the  shady 
gardens,  on  the  bare  hillsides,  and  amidst  the  fields  of 
Indian  corn,  long  trains  of  ants,  some  empty,  others 
laden  with  the  spoil  of  harvest,  move  in  an  unceasing 
flow.  At  one  spot  a  colony  of  ants  establishes  a 
formicary  ;  tunnels  are  dug  into  the  earth  and  subter- 
ranean granaries  are  excavated  in  which  to  store  the 
harvest.  From  the  entrance  to  the  formicary  a  solid 
track,  smooth  and  well  defined,  leads  out  to  where  the 
harvest  is  collected.  Should  the  nest  be  a  populous 
one,  a  number  of  similar  roads  may  radiate  in  dif- 
ferent directions.  These  roads  vary  in  length  ;  the 
longest  I  have  seen  in  these  hills  measured  thirty 
yards.  Following  the  road  outwards,  we  find  that  its 
further  extremity  gradually  fades  away,  expanding 
into  the  collecting  area  where  the  seeds  of  the  grass 
or  Indian  corn  are  waitinof  to  be  o-athered  in.     To  and 

fro  along  the  road  the  ants  move  in  different  direc- 

11 


12         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

tions ;  those  returning  to  the  nest  are  laden  with 
seeds  which  they  carry  to  the  hidden  granaries  ;  those 
leaving  the  nest  are  hastening  empty-handed  to  the 
foraging-ground  in  search  of  a  fresh  burden. 

Messor  barbams  is  an  industrious  though  not  a  very 
agile  ant.  It  is  a  dark  red  insect  with  a  smooth  and 
polished  surface.  Its  head  is  square  and  strong,  its 
thorax  massive,  and  its  large  abdomen  oval,  black 
and  shining.  The  members  of  the  same  community 
vary  greatly  in  size.  In  the  same  nest  are  seen  large 
workers  one-third  of  an  inch  in  length  and  smaller 
workers  only  one-sixth  of  an  inch  in  length,  and 
connecting  the  two  extremes  are  many  intermediate 
forms.  The  largest  workers,  though  twice  the  length 
of  the  smallest,  yet  still  more  exceed  them  in  their 
robust  build,  A  dense  multitude  must  throng  each 
nest,  for  the  roads  are  often  crowded  with  their 
numbers. 

The  nests  at  these  elevations,  an  altitude  of  4000 
feet,  do  not  contain  such  large  numbers  of  individuals 
as  those  seen  in  the  plains  of  the  Punjab.  At  higher 
altitudes  the  communities  are  still  less  populous,  and 
in  these  smaller  nests  the  common  red  species,  Messor 
barbartis,  tends  to  be  replaced  by  a  blackish  form 
dignified  by  a  distinct  specific  name,  Messor  hwiala- 
yanus.  A  few  thousand  feet  higher  the  harvester 
entirely  disappears.  I  have  occasionally  seen  them  at 
6000  feet  far  away  on  the  extreme  frontier.  And 
once  I  found  an  impoverished  nest  of  M.  himala- 
yanus  on  a  mountain  summit  at  8000  feet,  an  altitude 
which,  I  think,  must  mark  the  extreme  limits  to  which 
they  ascend. 

This    ant   commences    active    operations    early    in 


The  Harvesting  Ant  {Messor  barbariis)   X    5. 

The  Carnivorous  Ant  [Myrniecocystus  setipes)   X  3. 

[Face  p.  13.] 


HARVESTING   ANTS  Ife       13 

March.  Throughout  the  winter  not  a  harvester  is 
seen,  but  the  first  warm  days  of  spring  vivify  them 
from  their  sleep  and  a  start  is  made  in  the  estabhsh- 
ment  of  a  nest.  A  few  workers,  drowsy  and  indolent, 
emerge  from  the  ground.  They  move  slowly  about 
waiting  for  the  warm  sun  to  dissipate  their  sloth. 
Soon  they  commence  to  work.  Each  ant  emerges 
from  the  nest  holding  in  its  mandibles  a  little  load  of 
earth  ;  this  it  throws  to  one  side  and  returns  for 
another  burden.  Other  workers  join  the  original 
pioneers  and  excavation  advances.  In  these  early 
days  the  work  is  sluggish  and  intermittent  owing  to 
the  changing  weather  ;  a  bright  sun  moves  the  ants  to 
toil  with  energy,  the  rain  or  cloud  or  bitter  wind  drives 
them  inert  to  the  nest.  An  important  duty  at  the 
commencement  of  the  season  is  the  clearance  of  the 
last  year's  galleries.  The  ants  occupy  themselves  in 
ejecting  the  chaff  and  husks  from  the  nest.  Even  in 
this  work  they  display  some  system,  not  casting  about 
the  refuse  haphazard,  but  collecting  it  into  a  heap  at 
one  special  place.  Slowly  the  tunnels  are  deepened, 
the  granaries  are  enlarged,  piles  of  debris  accumulate 
about  the  orifice  of  the  nest,  but  as  yet  no  attempt  has 
been  made  to  gather  in  the  harvest.  An  important 
event  must  first  occur  ;  the  sexual  forms  must  emerge 
before  the  storage  of  food  begins. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  month  they  appear.  The 
winged  males  and  females  creep  slowly  from  the  nest 
and  out  into  the  open.  The  workers  pay  them  much 
attention,  caressing  them  with  gentle  strokes  of  their 
antennae.  But  the  prospective  parents  are  eager  to 
be  away  ;  they  soon  climb  to  points  of  vantage  on  the 
tips  of  the   neighbouring  blades  of  grass  and  fly  off 


14         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

into  the  air.  The  sexual  forms  having  dispersed, 
excavation  continues  and  is  soon  completed.  The 
ants  next  seek  the  harvest.  They  spread  out  in  all 
directions  from  the  formicary,  searching-  the  ground  for 
seeds.  As  soon  as  they  discover  a  suitable  area — it  may 
be  twenty  or  more  yards  distant  from  the  nest — they 
rapidly  wear  away  a  regular  thoroughfare  between  the 
collecting  area  and  the  nest,  along  which  they  pass 
and  repass  in  a  busy  throng,  either  hastening  to  the 
nest  laden  with  their  little  stores  of  provender  or 
hurrying  out  to  renew  their  burdens.  From  the  un- 
ceasing tramp  of  millions  of  tiny  feet  a  well-worn  and 
conspicuous  road  is  formed.  There  is  no  right  of 
way,  but  there  is  no  confusion  ;  all  pass  backward 
and  forward  with  perfect  regularity  ;  in  fact  the  air 
of  business,  the  bustle,  and  the  all-pervading  order 
remind  one  of  the  swarms  of  human  beings  hurrying 
along  the  highways  of  our  great  cities. 

The  gathering  of  the  seeds  is  well  worth  observa- 
tion. The  ants  move  out  along  their  road,  reach  the 
distant  end  and  spread  themselves  over  the  collecting 
area.  Some  explore  the  ground,  others  ascend  the 
plants  to  cut  the  seeds  that  have  not  yet  fallen.  Each 
ant,  having  secured  a  suitable  seed,  makes  straight  for 
home.  Over  every  obstacle  it  pushes  or  drags  its 
burden,  much  heavier  than  itself.  With  wonderful 
strength  and  energy  it  surmounts  the  stones  and  little 
hillocks  that  oppose  it,  or  winds  its  way  through  a 
miniature  forest  of  grass.  It  at  length  reaches  the 
beaten  track,  hurries  at  a  great  pace  along  the  smooth 
road,  ignoring  all  its  comrades  in  its  eagerness  for 
home.  Arriving  at  the  door,  it  enters,  carries  its  load 
down  the  tunnel  until  it  finds  the  granary.     There  it 


HARVESTING   ANTS  15 

yields  its  burden  to  other  workers  whose  office  it  is  to 
receive  the  seeds,  strip  them  of  their  husks,  and  eject 
the  useless  chaff  on  to  the  neighbouring  refuse  heap. 
The  ants  are  not  very  particular  as  to  the  nature  of 
the  seeds  they  select  for  storage.  I  have  collected 
twenty  different  kinds  of  seeds  garnered  by  this 
harvester.  Nor  do  they  always  confine  themselves 
to  nutritious  seeds,  for  on  an  almost  barren  hillside 
I  have  seen  them  collecting  dried  fragments  of  grass, 
more,  I  suspect,  from  the  force  of  instinct  compelling 
them  to  collect  something  rather  than  from  any  value 
they  could  derive  from  the  grass.  I  have  watched 
them  storing  the  pith  of  the  Indian  corn  which  could 
scarcely  have  any  nutritious  value.  On  one  occasion 
I  observed  them  selecting  their  harvest  from  a  heap 
of  bird-droppings,  and  often  they  explore  a  pile  of 
horse-dung,  which  they  tear  to  pieces,  transporting 
the  half-digested  fragments  to  their  home.  They 
occasionally  gather  insects  to  the  nest.  Termites,  the 
legitimate  prey  of  almost  every  living  creature,  are 
eagerly  seized,  lodged  in  the  formicary,  and  the  wings, 
like  the  husks  and  chaff  of  the  seeds,  are  thrown  out 
on  the  refuse  heap.  To  most  ants  the  Termites  are  a 
tasty  morsel.  MacCook  has  observed  the  agricultural 
ant  of  Texas,  which  also  stores  nutritious  seeds,  bearing 
to  the  nest  such  numbers  of  Termites  that  "the  vesti- 
bule became  choked,  and  a  mass  of  struggling  anthood 
was  piled  up  around  the  gate." 

The  conveyance  of  the  seed  is  a  great  labour,  but  a 
still  more  difficult  duty  for  the  harvester  is  to  grasp 
the  seed  in  such  a  manner  as  to  make  it  suitable  for 
transport.  The  seed  must  be  held  by  one  extremity 
so  that  its  bulk  is  directed   forwards  in  front  of  the 


16         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

ant's  head  and  elevated  from  off  the  ground.  It  is 
thus  often  very  difficult  to  grasp,  and  places  the  ant  at 
a  mechanical  disadvantage,  but  in  no  other  position  is 
the  ant  able  to  carry  it.  I  have  watched  the  ants 
persistently  struggling  with  the  seeds  in  the  endeavour 
to  obtain  a  suitable  grasp.  They  often  display  much 
cleverness  and  determination  in  the  way  they  seize 
the  seed,  first  at  one  point,  then  at  another  point,  and 
test  it  in  every  direction  before  they  finally  reject  it  as 
an  unsuitable  load.  Nevertheless,  numbers  of  seeds 
are  cast  aside,  not  because  they  are  unwholesome  food, 
but  because  they  cannot  be  carried. 

Messor,  like  the  harvesters  of  Europe  and  America, 
not  only  picks  up  fallen  seeds  from  off  the  ground, 
but  ascends  the  plants  and  cuts  off  both  ripe  and 
unripe  seeds  with  its  mandibles.  But  I  doubt  very 
much  if,  like  some  ants,  they  ever  employ  so  intelli- 
gent a  division  of  labour  as  to  detail  certain  of  the 
community  for  the  purpose  of  cutting  and  dropping  to 
the  ground  ripe  seeds,  and  assign  to  others  the  duty 
of  carrying  the  fallen  seeds  away.  Certainly  when 
I  placed  some  food  in  a  shallow  watch-glass  fixed  to 
the  summit  of  a  perpendicular  stick  close  to  the  nest, 
the  ants  that  climbed  into  the  watch-glass  never  threw 
down  fragments  to  those  below,  but  each  one  carried 
its  own  little  load  along  the  difficult  journey  round  the 
edge  of  the  watch-glass,  down  the  stick,  and  back  to 
the  nest ;  yet  in  this  experiment  they  might  have 
expected  to  learn  how  much  better  a  policy  it  would 
have  been  for  them  to  divide  their  toil,  as  many  of 
them,  while  struggling  with  their  loads  along  the 
edge  of  the  watch-glass,  overbalanced  and  tumbled 
to  the  ground,  and  thus  had  a  practical  lesson  in  the 


HARVESTING   ANTS  17 

shortening  of  the  journey  and  the  diminution  of  their 
labour. 

Although  not  very  particular  as  to  the  nature  of  the 
seed  which  they  take  into  the  nest,  they  are  very 
careful  to  satisfy  themselves  that  it  is  quite  dry. 
Moist  seeds  are  always  rejected,  and  in  rainy  weather, 
when  the  seeds  are  unusually  damp,  the  ants,  after 
collecting  them,  spread  them  around  the  orifice  of  the 
nest  and  allow  them  to  lie  there  until  sufficiently  dry. 
I  found  that  the  ants  were  very  fond  of  fragments 
of  walnut  and  carried  them  eagerly  away,  yet,  if 
moistened  with  water,  not  a  particle  would  be  lodged 
in  the  nest  until  first  thoroughly  dried  in  the  sun. 
The  garnered  seeds  are  not  always  ripe,  but  may  be 
removed  from  the  plant  while  still  green.  Sometimes 
the  seeds  have  broad  green  leaf-like  expansions, 
especially  in  a  species  of  dock  [Rtimex  hastatus), 
which  is  a  common  source  of  harvest.  And  as  each 
ant  holds  its  little  burden  in  the  air,  the  green  leafy 
seeds  sway  from  side  to  side,  and  the  returning  column 
reminds  one  of  the  descriptions  of  the  leaf-cutting  ants 
of  tropical  America,  and  recalls  the  vision,  to  which 
Belt  compares  them,  of  a  moving  Birnam  Wood. 

I  have  mentioned  that  nest-construction  beo;ins  in 
March,  but  this  is  only  the  case  at  altitudes  of  about 
4000  feet.  In  the  plains  of  the  Punjab  work  com- 
mences much  earlier  in  the  year.  I  have  there 
noticed  the  winged  forms  emerge  in  large  numbers  at 
the  end  of  January.  In  all  probability  the  species 
will  be  found  active  on  the  plains  during  any  month 
of  the  year.  Moderate  sunshine  is  the  main  stimulus 
to  labour,  cold  to  sloth,  while  all  industry  ceases  in  an 

intense  heat.     On  the  first  days  after  emergence  work 
c 


18         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

continues  only  in  the  sunshine,  later,  as  the  hot  season 
advances  and  while  the  days  are  still  pleasantly  cool, 
the  harvesters  toil  the  livelong  day,  careless  either  of 
sunshine  or  shade.  Still  later,  when  the  heat  increases 
and  the  sun's  rays  beat  fiercely  on  the  earth,  the  ants 
evade  the  warmth  that  they  first  enjoyed  and  abandon 
all  work  except  in  the  cool  hours  of  the  morning  and 
evening.  They  are  not  such  slaves  to  the  sun  as  the 
harvesters  of  America,  which  so  delight  in  the  warmth 
that  they  refuse  to  construct  their  nests  in  shady 
places,  and  will  either  desert  the  nest  or  cut  down  the 
overhanging  leaves  if  the  latter  should  intercept  the 
full  light  of  the  sun.  The  Messor  ants  do  not  object 
to  a  well-shaded  nest ;  in  fact  in  midsummer  it  is  an 
advantage  to  them,  for  the  ants  will  then  work  through 
the  heat  of  the  day  round  about  the  nest,  and  continue 
to  collect  the  harvest  wherever  there  is  suitable  shade. 
They  will  not  then  extend  their  operations  into  the 
full  sunlight  until  the  cool  of  the  evening.  Rain 
greatly  disturbs  the  even  life  of  the  formicary.  It 
checks  all  industry,  obliterates  the  roads,  washes  the 
sand  and  gravel  down  the  orifice  to  obstruct  the 
tunnels  of  the  nest.  In  these  hills  the  rains  are 
frequent  and  intermittent,  and  the  ants  have  as  a 
consequence  to  perform  much  unproductive  labour 
after  every  downpour.  From  within  the  nest  they 
pull  away  the  obstructing  debris  grain  by  grain  and 
are  ultimately  set  free.  On  one  occasion,  after  an 
unusually  heavy  storm,  the  ants  did  not  escape  from 
their  prison  until  two  and  a  half  hours  after  the  rain 
had  ceased.  The  brisk  and  active  manner  in  which 
they  ran  about  the  opening  suggested  that  they  were 
highly  pleased  at  their  release. 


HARVESTING  ANTS  19 

It  is  interesting  to  observe  the  sudden  change  that 
takes  place  in  the  general  operations  when  work  ceases 
for  the  day.  I  have  endeavoured  to  make  clear  that, 
when  gathering  in  the  harvest,  all  the  returning  ants 
carry  in  their  jaws  a  contribution  to  the  general  fund 
and  all  the  ants  leaving  the  nest  are  empty-handed. 
But  if  the  ants  be  observed  shortly  before  sunset  the 
normal  progress  will  appear  reversed,  for  thousands 
of  ants  possessing  no  burden  will  be  noticed  hurrying 
from  the  field  of  harvest  along  the  beaten  track  and 
entering  the  nest.  The  cause  of  the  sudden  change 
is  that  work  has  ceased  for  the  day.  Innumerable 
ants  have  been  searching  diligently  for  seeds  but 
have  been  unrewarded.  Evening  approaches,  and  by 
common  consent  they  cease  their  labours.  Though 
failing  to  secure  a  load,  they  all  converge  to  the 
common  track  and  hurry  along  to  the  nest.  Here 
and  there  a  more  fortunate  worker,  dra^oino-  labori- 
ously  a  large  seed,  is  infected  with  their  haste  and, 
though  struggling  along  more  violently  than  ever, 
is  left  hopelessly  behind.  On  they  come  in  an  ap- 
parently endless  stream  ;  they  pour  into  the  nest,  for 
work  has  ceased  for  the  day,  and  they  retire  to  rest 
for  the  night. 

The  principle  of  the  division  of  labour  is  an  indication 
of  the  degree  of  organization  attained  in  any  com- 
munity. Order,  system,  internal  and  external  economy 
largely  depend  on  different  members,  each  performing 
its  own  definite  task.  The  principle  is  illustrated  in 
the  life  of  the  harvester.  The  larcre  class  of  worker, 
or  soldier-worker,  assumes  a  different  part  in  the 
general  management  of  the  formicary  from  that  taken 
by  the  host  of  smaller  workers.     They  do  not  join   in 


20         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

the  routine  duties  of  excavation  ;  they  rarely  carry  a 
load  of  debris  to  the  refuse  heap  ;  they  quietly  crawl 
about  the  opening  while  the  smaller  workers  toil 
laboriously  on.  If  we  watch  a  nest  during  excavation, 
it  will  usually  be  found  to  have  two  or  three  soldiers 
stationed  at  the  entrance.  From  time  to  time  they 
leave  their  post  of  duty  at  the  gate  and  creep  about 
over  the  husks  and  excavated  earth  as  though  to 
satisfy  themselves  that  the  work  is  proceeding  satis- 
factorily. Then  they  again  return  to  the  entrance. 
At  first  sight  it  appears  a  strange  dispensation  of 
nature  that  the  larijest  and  stronoest  should  be  the 
laziest  in  the  community.  But  this  is  far  from  being 
the  case.  Interfere  in  any  way  with  the  general 
routine  of  work  and  none  will  more  resent  the  in- 
trusion nor  attack  more  ferociously  than  these  sluggish 
soldiers  ;  place  any  impediment  in  the  way  of  excava- 
tion and  the  soldiers  will  be  tireless  in  their  activity 
until  it  is  removed.  It  is  difficult  to  escape  the 
impression  that  the  soldiers  stationed  at  the  entrance 
maintain  a  general  supervision  over  the  smaller  workers 
in  their  task  of  excavation,  direct  the  scheme  of  opera- 
tions, dictate  the  methods  by  which  new  difficulties 
are  to  be  overcome,  and  stubbornly  defend  the  nest 
against  all  intruders. 

I  will  mention  one  instance  displaying  the  energy 
and  special  duty  of  the  soldiers  in  the  protection  of 
the  home.  I  found  a  nest  of  Messor  Jiimalaya7ius 
situated  on  the  side  of  a  limestone  cliff  with  its  occu- 
pants busy  as  usual  storing  up  supplies  for  winter. 
At  the  time  I  first  detected  the  nest  no  soldiers  were 
stationed  at  the  gate.  Eighteen  inches  distant  from 
the  entrance  to  the  Messor  nest  a  complete  migration 


HARVESTING   ANTS  21 

of  another  ant  community  (Acantholepis  frmicjifcldi) 
was  in  progress,  and  thousands  of  the   tiny  workers 
were   moving  rapidly,  in  perfect   order,  to  their   new 
abode,   and   many  of  them    were    laden    with    larvae. 
The  migration  was  no  doubt  due  to  the  recent  rains 
flooding    the   deserted   nest  which  was  situated   at  a 
lower  level  amongst  the  stones  not  more  than  ten  feet 
away.     The  fact  worth  noting  was  that,  though  the 
migrant  stream  passed  in  close  proximity  to  the  Messor 
nest,  yet  the  discipline  of  their  advance  was  maintained 
with   such   regularity  and    order  that  no  antagonism 
occurred  between  the  two  species.     The  discipline  of 
the  migrants  and  the  industry  of  the  harvesters  con- 
tinued   without    either    party    causing    the    slightest 
interference    or    opposition.      Seeing    this    harmony 
between  the   two  species,    I   disturbed  the  stream  of 
migrants.      Immediately  the  whole  body  of  ants  was 
thrown  into  a  state  of  great  confusion.     All  was  flurry 
and  excitement ;  ants   rushed  hither  and  thither  and 
the  commotion  spread  back  along  the  advancing  line. 
Discipline  was   lost,   and  the  orderly  progress  of  the 
insect- army    was    changed    into    an    excited    mob    of 
migrants.     Many   rushed   into  the   nest   to    seize  the 
larvse  and  transport  them  to  a  place  of  safety,  while 
others  dashed  from  place  to  place  communicating  the 
news  with   their  antenna;  and   spreading  a  report  of 
the   disturbance    throughout    the    whole    community. 
Now  as  soon  as  I  disturbed  the  line  of  miorants  and 
spread     confusion     amongst    their     ranks,     the     two 
species,    which  before  worked   harmoniously,  at  once 
came  into  furious  contact,  and  many  of  the  migrating 
ants  in  their  excitement  rushed  right  across  the  Messor 
nest  which  before  they  ha,d  passed  in  peace.     Two 


22         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIIMALAYA 

laree  Alcssor  soldiers  then   came   to   the   entrance   of 
their  nest,  and  one  took  up  the  position  of  guard  on 
cither  side  of  the  opening.     Whenever  a   worker  of 
the  other  species  approached   within   an  inch  of  the 
entrance,    one    of  the    soldiers    would    instantly   rush 
forward    and    endeavour    to  seize    the    intruder;    but 
although  the  soldiers  were  too  heavy  and  clumsy   to 
capture  the  agile  Acantholepis,  yet  they  succeeded  in 
guarding  their   nest  successfully   against   the   host  of 
excited   migrants.      None   of  the   smaller  workers   at- 
tempted   an    attack,    but    continued   to  perform   their 
domestic  duties  under  the  safe  protection  of  the  two 
soldiers.     Thus    do    the    soldiers    of   the   species    M. 
himalayanus  perform   distinct  and   specialized    duties 
in  regard  to  the  protection  of  the  nest. 

The  following  is  another  instance  of  the  division  of 
labour  in  this  community.     A  number  of  the  ants  were 
excavating  a  nest  from  beneath  a  small  stone  situated 
against  a  sloping  bank.    The  earth  which  they  removed 
had   accumulated   into   a    heap,   and    numbers    of  the 
workers  were   engaged   in   carrying  their  loads  from 
the  inside  of  the  nest  on  to   the   surface  of  the  heap. 
The  surface  of  the  mound  thus  formed  was  flat,  and  the 
extremity  furthest  from  the  nest  formed  a  miniature 
precipice  overhanging  the  ground  below.      I  observed 
that  the  ants  emerging  from  the  nest  never  threw  their 
loads  down  the  precipice,  but  laid  them  on  the  surface 
of  the  mound.     The  ants,   however,   had  stationed  a 
special  worker  on  the  brink  of  the  precipice,  and,  as 
fast  as  the  excavating  workers  deposited  their  loads 
on  the  flat  summit  of  the  mound,  they  were  taken  over 
by  this  special  worker,  carried  by  her  to  the  edge  and 
pitched  down  the  precipice.     This  appeared  to  be  the 


HARVESTING  ANTS  23 

particular  duty  of  the  one  ant.  Each  worker  could 
with  very  little  more  trouble  have  advanced  another 
inch  with  its  burden  and  thrown  it  over  the  precipice  ; 
but  it  was  apparently  a  better  division  of  labour  and 
in  some  way  more  economical  for  the  community,  that 
each  worker  should  take .  its  load  only  to  the  summit 
and  there  deposit  it,  but  that  the  size,  shape,  and 
general  construction  of  the  mound  should  be  the 
peculiar  duty  of  one  particular  worker. 

But  apart  from  these  special  instances,  we  observe 
the  same  principle  employed  in  the  routine  of  daily 
life.  The  harvesting  of  grain  and  the  casting  out  of 
husks  are  duties  which  are  carried  on  simultaneously 
in  the  same  nest.  In  this  work  the  ants  divide  their 
labour  :  certain  individuals  harvest  grrain  but  do  not 
undertake  the  removal  of  husks ;  others  eject  the 
husks  but  take  no  part  in  the  storage  of  grain.  And 
not  only  do  these  ants  divide  their  toil  amongst  their 
many  members,  but  they  sometimes  advance  still 
further  in  the  division  of  labour,  that  most  valuable  of 
all  functions  to  any  community,  in  that  they  occasion- 
ally reserve  one  aperture  of  the  nest  exclusively  as  an 
entrance  for  those  workers  carrying  in  the  harvest,  and 
another  aperture  solely  as  an  exit  for  those  other 
workers  eno;ag"ed  in  throwing  out  the  husks. 

Thus  do  the  harvesters  divide  their  labours  in  due 
regard  to  the  business  of  their  lives.  The  strict 
economy  of  the  nest  needs  the  untiring  help  of  all. 
But  each  individual  has  its  own  duty  ;  each  its  own 
particular  place  in  the  long  monotony  of  daily  toil. 


CHAPTER    III 

SENSES    AND    INSTINCTS    OF    HARVESTING    ANTS 

Sense  of  smell — Sense  of  direction — Communication — Play  and  sport — 
Peacefulness — Mode  of  defence — Emotions — Economy — Migration 
—  Pliability  of  instinct — Aberration  of  instinct— Folly  of  ants. 

The  special  senses  of  ants  are  well  worthy  of  investi- 
gation. 

It  is  f^encrally  admitted,  and  I  am  convinced  it  is 
true  in  the  case  of  the  Indian  harvesters,  that  ants  find 
their  way  mainly  by  the  sense  of  smell.  It  is  very 
easy  to  demonstrate  the  acute  development  of  this 
sense  by  surrounding  the  opening  of  the  nest  with  a 
narrow  ring  of  powdered  camphor.  The  ants  become 
very  excited  ;  they  often  recognize  the  odour  fully  an 
inch  distant  from  the  ring  and  dart  backwards  in 
apparent  distress  and  alarm.  With  the  exception  of 
a  few  brave  spirits  that  in  their  confusion  dash  across 
the  ring,  those  at  the  mouth  of  the  nest  are  cut  off 
from  the  outside  world,  neither  can  those  cutting  and 
carrying  the  harvest  enter  within.  Labour,  however, 
does  not  cease,  for  the  outside  workers,  after  vainly 
endeavouring  to  brave  the  powerful  odours  of  the 
camphor,  deposit  their  burdens  outside  the  ring  and 
go  off  in  search  of  more.  It  is  the  possession  of  this 
strong  sense  of  smell  that  enables  the  harvesters  to 
keep  to  the  same  road  and  pursue  an  unerring  course 

^0  and   from   the   nest.     Unusual   landmarks   placed 

24 


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►4 

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INSTINCTS   OF   HARVESTING   ANTS     25 

beside  their  road  do  not  in  the  slightest  confuse  them, 
but  if  the  finger  be  drawn  gently  across  the  track  they 
instantly  recognize  the  interference,  appear  to  have 
lost  their  way,  and  not  until  a  number  have  crossed 
and  recrossed  is  the  orderly  progress  again  resumed. 

I  placed  a  strip  of  cardboard  an  inch  in  width 
across  the  track  of  the  harvesters.  This  caused  intense 
commotion,  and  not  until  many  hours  had  elapsed  did 
the  ants  carry  their  loads  over  the  narrow  cardboard 
strip.  When  the  stream  was  restored  I  then  removed 
the  strip  and  the  ants  were  just  as  much  confused  as 
before,  although  I  had  given  them  back  their  original 
road.  They  were  unable  to  recognize  their  old  track, 
since  the  odour  had  disappeared  while  covered  with 
the  cardboard.  I  transferred  the  strip  over  which  the 
ants  were  freely  moving  to  another  track  and  placed 
it  down  in  a  manner  similar  to  the  first,  but  the  ants 
were  not  now  in  the  slightest  confused  ;  they  carried 
their  burdens  without  any  hesitation  directly  across 
the  cardboard  strip.  In  this  last  little  experiment  the 
strip  of  cardboard  had  been  given  the  natural  scent  by 
the  numbers  of  harvesters  that  had  run  across  it  on 
the  first  track,  and  it  thus  became  indistinguishable 
from  the  usual  road  to  the  ants  which  hastened  alonof 
the  second  track.  In  the  employment  of  camphor  to 
test  the  sense  of  smell  we  stimulate  the  pugnacity  of 
the  soldiers.  Camphor  is  a  substance  which  the 
harvesters  dread  ;  from  its  powerful  odour  they  dash 
headlong  away ;  nevertheless,  so  plucky  are  the 
soldiers,  that  I  have  seen  one  grasp  a  large  fragment 
of  this  stupefying  substance  in  its  jaws  and  endeavour 
to  drag  it  away  from  the  nest. 

When  a  harvester  leaves  the  general  track  in  search 


26         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

of  seeds  it  is,  I  think,  by  the  sense  of  smell  that  it 
finds  its  way  back  again  to  its  track.  To  test  this 
I  placed  near  the  nest  away  from  the  track  a  perpen- 
dicular stick  with  a  little  platform  on  the  summit  on 
which  were  laid  some  chopped  walnuts.  I  transferred 
a  few  ants  to  the  platform,  and  after  a  little  time  they 
continued  to  come  backwards  and  forwards  between 
the  platform  and  the  nest,  on  all  occasions  making  a 
straight  course  from  the  foot  of  the  stick  to  the 
opening  of  the  nest.  While  an  ant  was  selecting  a 
suitable  morsel  on  the  platform  I  moved  the  stick  one 
inch  to  the  right.  The  ant  descended  the  stick  with 
its  load,  but  when  it  reached  the  ground,  instead  of 
making  direct  for  the  nest  it  wandered  aimlessly  about, 
carried  its  load  further  and  further  away  until  finally 
I  lost  it  in  the  grass.  It  could  not  have  been  a  special 
sense  of  direction  that  guided  the  ant  from  the  foot  of 
the  stick  to  the  nest,  for  the  movement  of  the  stick 
one  inch  did  not  appreciably  alter  its  relationship  and 
direction  in  respect  to  the  nest,  yet  the  ant  was  hope- 
lessly lost.  I  believe  the  ant,  when  away  from  the 
common  road,  on  its  return  journey  follows  the  line  of 
its  own  scent,  and  when  it  deviates  from  that  line  it  is 
lost.  And  if  this  be  true,  then  the  sense  of  smell  must 
be  developed  to  an  inconceivable  degree.  It  is  in 
itself  surprising  to  watch  the  thousands  of  ants  moving 
along  the  common  track,  each  guided  by  a  powerful 
sense  of  smell ;  but  it  is  far  more  wonderful  to  see  a 
single  ant,  away  from  the  beaten  road,  scenting  back 
along  its  own  track  and  unerringly  working  over  the 
same  line  that  it  previously  followed,  though  that  line 
may  have  been  crossed  and  recrossed  in  the  interval 
by  hundreds  of  other  ants.     A  harvester  must,  there- 


INSTINCTS   OF   HARVESTING   ANTS     27 

fore,  be  capable  of  detecting  its  own  scent  from  that 
of  every  other  individual  in  the  nest,  and  it  follows 
that  every  single  ant  in  a  community  must  have  a 
different  scent. 

Marvellous  as  is  the  sense  of  smell,  it  is  impossible 
to  consider  it  as  the  sole  o-uide  in  the  activities  of  the 
harvesters.  During  certain  operations  they  seem  to 
be  impelled  to  take  the  right  course  by  some  mys- 
terious sense  of  direction  quite  incomprehensible  to 
us.  This  is  well  illustrated  by  the  manner  in  which 
the  ants  find  their  way  home  when  engaged  in  funereal 
duties.  Certain  ants  bury  their  dead,  and  are  even 
said  to  follow  the  corpse  with  reverence  to  the  grave. 
The  harvesters  do  not  inter  their  dead  beneath  the 
soil  nor  do  they  indulge  in  any  funereal  ceremonies, 
but  are  nevertheless  very  careful  in  disposing  of  the 
dead  bodies  of  their  companions.  When  a  dead  ant 
belonging  to  the  community  is  discovered,  one  of  the 
workers  takes  it  in  its  mandibles  and  carries  it  far 
away  from  the  entrance  to  the  nest.  The  dead  are 
taken  sometimes  to  a  very  great  distance ;  on  one 
occasion  the  ant  conveyed  the  corpse  sixty  feet  from 
the  nest  before  it  had  discovered  a  suitable  cemetery. 
The  place  chosen  for  the  disposal  of  the  dead  is  far 
away  from  the  area  of  activity  of  the  ants,  never  in 
the  direction  of  the  harvesting  operations.  When 
watchino-  these  funereal  duties  nothino-  is  more  strikingr 
than  the  wonderful  manner  in  which  the  ants  are  able 
to  maintain  the  true  direction  over  unknown  ground. 
I  killed  twenty  of  the  members  of  one  community. 
Two  cemeteries  were  selected  for  the  disposal  of  their 
bodies,  one  due  west  and  the  other  due  east  of  the 
nest.      I  observed  an  ant  which  carried  its  dead  com- 


28         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

panion  sixty  feet  from  the  entrance  to  the  formicary. 
After  taking  up  the  body,  it  struck  off  in  a  westerly 
direction  ;  the  other  members  of  the  community  never 
moved  west,  as  the  harvest  was  being  transported 
along  a  line  running  due  south.  Nevertheless,  this 
ant  maintained  a  true  westerly  course.  All  kinds  of 
obstacles  confronted  it :  large  stones  forced  it  to  dellect 
either  to  the  right  or  to  the  left ;  it  had  frequently  to 
rest  its  burden  on  the  ground  and  seize  it  in  some 
more  favourable  manner  in  order  to  raise  it  over  an 
obstruction  ;  sometimes  it  was  forced  to  carry  the  body 
up  the  stems  of  plants  or  to  make  wide  deviations 
to  avoid  some  difficulty;  at  other  times  it  had  to  cease 
its  endeavours  to  carry  the  corpse  and  was  compelled 
to  turn  about  and  drag  it  irreverently  over  the  ground. 
As  the  ant  moved  away  sixty  feet  distant  on  the 
unfrequented  side  of  the  nest,  it  must  have  been 
travelling  over  unknown  ground  ;  all  landmarks  must 
have  been  strange  ;  every  obstacle  forced  the  ant  to 
turn  in  various  directions,  yet  it  always  returned  to  a 
true  westerly  course.  Other  ants  followed  with  more 
corpses  though  not  on  the  direct  track  of  the  pre- 
ceding ant,  yet  the  course  was  always  a  true  one  ;  it 
never  deviated  from  a  due  west.  I  am  unable  to 
understand  how  an  ant  can  maintain  a  true  course 
over  unknown  ground  unless  it  possesses  some  peculiar 
directive  sense  beyond  our  limited  comprehension.  I 
expected  that  the  ant,  after  the  disposal  of  the  corpse, 
would  return  back  along  its  own  track,  using  its 
powers  of  scent,  or  possibly  the  landmarks  on  the 
route,  as  a  guide  to  its  return  journey.  I  carefully 
marked  the  outward  track,  but,  though  the  ant  made 
a  straight  course  for  home,  it  did  not  retrace  its  actual 


INSTINCTS   OF   HARVESTING  ANTS     29 

footsteps.  It  travelled  from  a  foot  to  two  feet  distant 
from  its  outward  path,  and  consequently  I  do  not 
think  the  sense  of  smell  could  have  been  its  guide. 
I  placed  barriers  between  the  returning  ant  and  its 
outward  track  so  as  to  conceal  any  landmarks,  and  I 
introduced  stones  and  sticks  as  new  landmarks  along 
the  line  of  its  return,  but  they  did  not  in  the  least 
confuse  the  ant.  In  front  of  one  ant  I  placed  a  forceps, 
a  razor,  a  sheet  of  paper,  a  book,  and  a  mirror.  The 
ant  could  never  have  seen  such  unusual  landmarks 
along  any  track,  and  if  it  made  use  of  landmarks  as  a 
means  of  recognizing  its  return  journey,  then  such 
strange  obstacles  as  these  must  have  convinced  it 
that  it  was  on  the  wron2f  track.  But  the  ant  was  not 
confused  ;  it  worked  its  way  round  the  obstructions 
and  kept  straight  on.  Nothing  interrupted  its  home- 
ward course  ;  nothing  seemed  to  be  its  guide.  It  was 
difficult  to  escape  the  conclusion  that  a  powerful  sense 
of  direction  was  the  strange  impulse  that  led  it  to 
its  home.  Drawing  the  finger  over  the  ground  in 
front  of  the  returning  ant  did  not  excite  it  in  the 
slightest,  though,  if  the  same  be  done  across  the  main 
track  leading  from  the  nest,  a  great  confusion  ensues, 
and  only  after  much  hesitation  will  the  ants  pass  over. 
This  wonderful  faculty  by  which  the  harvesters 
engaged  in  funereal  duties  find  their  way  home,  and 
which  we  must  call  a  sense  of  direction,  is,  like  other 
instincts,  capable  of  confusion.  An  ant  had  carried  the 
dead  body  of  a  companion  nineteen  feet  distant  from 
the  nest  and  was  on  the  return  journey.  I  took  up 
the  ant  and  transferred  it  back  to  a  point  six  inches 
behind  on  its  own  track.  After  a  pause  the  ant  took 
a  few  hesitatin"-  turns  and  then  made  straio^ht  for  the 


30         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

nest.  After  the  .'int  had  progressed  a  little  further, 
I  again  took  it  up  and  brought  it  back  six  inches. 
This  time  the  ant  was  more  confused  and  wandered 
about  for  a  longer  time  before  it  found  itself  able  to 
strike  a  direct  course.  After  it  had  discovered  the 
true  direction  and  was  travellinor  in  confidence  towards 
home,  I  again  brought  it  back  six  inches.  This  time, 
though  much  nearer  the  nest,  its  confusion  was  still 
greater  ;  it  repeatedly  crossed  and  recrossed  over  its 
own  track,  wandered  about  in  all  directions,  and,  even 
after  it  appeared  to  have  formed  a  hazy  idea  of  the 
position  of  its  nest,  it  continued  to  deviate  widely  from 
its  course  and  often  wandered  some  distance  backward. 
For  the  fourth  time,  and  when  only  two  feet  from  the 
nest,  I  brought  it  back  six  inches.  Its  confusion  was 
now  intense ;  it  seemed  hopelessly  lost ;  it  hurried 
hither  and  thither,  passed  and  repassed  the  entrance 
of  its  nest,  and  only  after  a  long  and  laborious  search 
did  it  happen  by  chance  to  fall  upon  its  home. 

I  have  not  the  faintest  conception  of  how  this  sense 
of  direction  works.  It  is  certainly  not  in  the  power  of 
the  ants  to  command  it  at  all  times.  I  took  an  ant 
from  the  opening  of  its  nest,  placed  it  in  a  dark  tube, 
removed  the  tube  to  a  point  ten  inches  distant  and 
then  released  the  ant.  The  little  creature  was  com- 
pletely lost  ;  it  wandered  aimlessly  about  in  every 
direction  ;  not  a  square  inch  of  ground  on  either  side 
but  it  vainly  explored  again  and  again  until  at  length 
it  came  fortuitously  on  its  nest.  Other  specimens 
removed  to  a  similar  distance  wandered  as  far  as 
fifteen  feet  away  from  the  nest,  and  others  found 
themselves  so  hopelessly  astray  that  they  gave  up  the 
search  and  hid  themselves  beneath  the  stones. 


INSTINCTS   OF  HARVESTING   ANTS     31 

What  can  we  say  of  an  instinct  such  as  this,  at  one 
time  so  sure  a  guide,  at  another  time  so  utterly  at 
fault  ?  I  withdraw  the  ant  returning  from  its  cemetery 
six  inches  on  its  track  and  it  soon  regains  its  road  ; 
I  transfer  it  the  same  distance  from  its  nest  and  it 
wanders  aimlessly  as  in  a  dream.  In  one  case  the 
sense  is  certain,  in  the  other  it  is  lost.  But  why, 
I  know  not.  The  sense  of  smell  though  wonderful 
is  comprehensible ;  the  sense  of  direction  is  an 
inexplicable  mystery. 

That  many  ants  are  able  to  communicate  intelligence 
one  to  the  other  is  an  undoubted  fact.  I  shall  later 
illustrate  the  high  degree  to  which  this  faculty  has 
been  developed  in  another  species  found  in  the  valley. 
The  harvesters,  however,  can  claim  the  power  ot 
communication  only  in  a  moderate  extent.  The  one 
kind  of  information,  and  that  a  most  important  one, 
which  these  ants  can  undoubtedly  communicate  to 
each  other  is  the  presence  of  danger.  When  one  ant 
in  the  society  is  alarmed,  the  news  spreads  amongst 
all  the  members  with  extraordinary  rapidity.  On  one 
occasion,  when  the  ants  had  collected  into  little  groups 
of  ten  to  twenty  individuals  and  were  sheltering  from 
the  rain  in  a  dull  torpid  state,  I  touched  a  solitary  ant 
that  was  resting  quite  separate  from  any  of  the  groups. 
The  ant  hurried  away  in  alarm  to  the  nearest  group. 
As  soon  as  it  touched  one  of  the  ants  in  the  group 
with  its  antennae,  the  information  was  rapidly  spread 
from  individual  to  individual  and  the  whole  group 
broke  up  in  wild  alarm.  As  each  excited  ant  reached 
another  group  the  same  flurry  ensued,  and  in  a  very 
short  space  of  time  all  the  torpid  groups  were  dashing 
about   in  disorderly   commotion.      Thus  a   single    ant 


32         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

had  imparted  to  the  whole  nest  a  sense  of  impending 
danger. 

It  is  surprising  that  these  ants  do  not  appear  to  have 
the  power  of  informing  one  another  of  the  discovery 
of  food.  With  most  of  their  lives  employed  in  collect- 
ing seeds,  it  might  have  been  expected  that  their 
faculty  of  communication  would  have  been  developed 
to  this  degree.  But  such  is  not  the  case.  I  placed 
some  chopped  walnuts,  of  which  the  ants  are  very 
fond,  a  little  distance  from  the  nest.  I  marked  the 
first  ant  that  discovered  the  nuts  with  a  speck  of  white 
paint.  After  carrying  off  a  morsel  it  returned  again 
and  again,  but  never  brought  any  companions.  All 
the  ants  marked  in  this  way  possessed  a  very  excellent 
memory  for  location,  but  they  were  utterly  unable  to 
bring  others  to  the  place. 

If  an  ant  is  lost  it  can  gain  nothing  by  questioning 
another  ant.  I  have  frequently  watched  an  ant  seeking 
in  vain  for  the  orifice  of  its  nest,  meeting  with  other 
ants  and  rubbing  antennae  with  them.  No  doubt  in 
this  way  it  recognized  its  comrades,  but  it  found  no 
help  in  regaining  its  road.  It  was  clear  that  to  ask  the 
question  "  Which  is  the  way  to  my  nest  ?  "  is  a  mode  of 
communication  far  too  refined  for  so  humble  a  creature. 
However  close  may  be  the  intercourse  that  takes  place 
between  the  lost  ant  and  its  companions,  the  former 
never  receives  any  information  that  may  help  it  to  find 
the  way  to  its  nest. 

I  will  mention  some  special  habits  which  I  have 
observed  from  time  to  time  in  the  daily  life  of  this 
harvester.  The  illustrious  Huber  remarked  that  ants 
of  the  species  Formica  pratensis  play  games,  indulge 
in  sport  and  enjoy  themselves  on  the  surface  of  their 


INSTINCTS   OF   HARVESTING   ANTS     33 

nest.  The  harvesters  occasionally  indulge  in  a  similar 
pastime.  One  fine  evening,  about  an  hour  before 
dusk,  I  noticed  a  group  of  harvesters  assembled 
around  the  aperture  of  their  nest,  and  playing  about 
in  so  leisurely  a  manner  that  one  might  believe  they 
were  indulging  in  a  general  recreation  after  the  day's 
hard  work,  and  were  enjoying  the  cool  of  the  evening 
before  retiring  to  rest.  The  ants  were  creeping  about 
in  a  lazy,  quiet  manner.  Some  were  rubbing  one 
another  with  their  antennae  as  though  they  were  giving 
a  display  of  their  affection.  Others  were  cleaning 
themselves  after  the  toil  of  the  day  and  paid  special 
attention  to  their  antennae,  which  they  continually 
stroked  with  their  legs.  Others  were  more  active  and 
engaged  in  play  or  mimic  warfare.  Workers  would 
snap  at  one  another  as  if  in  friendly  battle.  Sometimes 
one  ant  would  seize  the  other ;  a  playful  struggle 
would  ensue ;  then  a  third  ant  would  join  in  the 
contest  and  all  would  tumble  over  and  over  like  little 
children  rolling  about  in  fun.  The  ants  would  then 
cease  their  friendly  wrestle  and  run  off  to  find  another 
opponent  and  have  another  tumble.  Like  little  puppies 
they  seemed  to  enjoy  snapping  at  one  another  and 
then  springing  away  before  the  offended  ant  could 
retaliate  with  a  mock  display  of  anger.  But  there  was 
no  bad  feeling,  no  true  quarrel.  The  group  was 
engaged  in  what  appeared  to  be  playful  rivalry,  and 
every  ant  seemed  to  be  enjoying  an  idle  recreation. 

The  harvester  is  of  an  unwarlike  disposition.  In 
all  likelihood  if  a  community  were  to  use  all  its 
organized  force,  its  rigid  discipline,  its  undivided  efforts 
in  an  attack  on  other  species,  but  few  could  withstand 
its  onslaught.      Fortunately  for  insect  life  it  is  not  a 

D 


34         A  NATURALIST   IN   HI^IALAYA 

warrior  but  a  peaceful  husbandiiian.  An  attack  on  the 
enemy  is  so  foreign  to  its  nature  that  it  scarcely  under- 
stands the  mode  of  battle.  When  in  danger  it  trusts 
not  in  attack  but  in  defence.  It  protects  its  nest  by 
raising  up  ramparts  rather  than  by  advancing  to 
engage  the  enemy. 

I  placed  a  wounded  specimen  of  the  ant  Caniponotus 
coinpressus  close  to  the  mouth  of  a  Messor  nest  situated 
on  a  gravelly  path.  The  ants  seemed  surprised  and 
terrified  at  its  presence  ;  some  dashed  about  in  evident 
alarm  ;  others  glared  ferociously  with  open  jaws  at  the 
intruder  ;  occasionally  a  more  daring  spirit  would  seize 
the  enemy  by  a  leg  or  antenna,  but  would  instantly 
flee  on  the  slightest  resistance  of  the  stranger.  The 
curious  fact  was  that,  with  all  their  wonderful  discipline 
and  organization,  the  whole  nest  appeared  unable  to 
make  a  concerted  attack  on  a  single  wounded  Carn- 
ponotus  ant  which  had  invaded  their  territory,  yet 
half  a  dozen  of  them  acting  together  could  have 
immediately  removed  it.  Though  unable  to  attack 
in  any  force,  they  were  well  aware  that  their  nest  was 
in  danger.  Workers  hurried  round  the  mouth  of  the 
nest,  seized  flat  pebbles  many  times  their  own  weight 
and  carried  them  back  to  the  entrance.  Each  worker 
placed  its  stone  over  the  orifice  of  the  nest,  and  in  an 
incredibly  short  space  of  time  the  interior  was  secured 
by  a  strong  barricade.  The  workers  continued  to 
strengthen  their  fortifications  until  the  opening  was 
completely  blocked  with  stones,  and  the  nest  was  then 
not  only  fortified,  but  the  opening  was  so  concealed 
that  it  appeared  quite  uniform  with  the  surrounding 
ground.  By  these  tactics  many  of  the  ants  cut  oft 
their  own   retreat,   yet    they    succeeded    in   the   more 


INSTINCTS   OF   HARVESTING   ANTS     35 

important  object  of  shieldino-  their  stores  and  offspring 
from  attack.  It  is  clear  that  the  harvesters  in  their 
struggle  with  the  enemy  rely  solely  on  defensive 
action. 

That  ants  possess  tender  emotions  is  a  matter  of 
much  doubt.  I  feel  it  difficult  to  credit  them  with  any 
real  feelinos  of  kindness  or  affection.  But  on  certain 
occasions  they  do  behave  as  if  they  showed  a  sense 
of  sympathy  towards  their  fellows.  I  flooded  a  nest 
of  Messor  barbariis  by  pouring  about  a  pint  of  water 
down  the  entrance.  The  workers  outside  immediately 
ceased  their  harvesting  duties  and  commenced  to  force 
their  way  into  the  flooded  nest.  It  was  almost  pathetic 
to  observe  the  careful  manner  in  which  they  carried 
out  their  half-drowned  companions.  One  could  scarcely 
resist  the  idea  that  some  feeling  akin  to  compassion  or 
sympathy  must  have  influenced  the  ants  when  each 
was  seen  carrying  an  insensible  companion  from  the 
inundated  home  and  laying  it  carefully  in  the  sun 
outside  the  nest,  where  it  rapidly  recovered  and  took 
a  place  itself  amongst  the  rescuers.  It  is  difficult  not  to 
explain  the  behaviour  of  these  insects  except  in  terms 
of  human  feeling,  but  in  this  we  should  be  very 
cautious  or  we  may  greatly  err. 

The  ants  are  economical  in  the  use  of  material  and 
are  provident  in  seeing  that  little  goes  waste.  Even 
the  ejected  husks  and  chaff  are  sometimes  of  further 
use,  as  the  ants  will  stuff  them  into  the  mouth  of  the 
nest  and  thus  block  the  opening  when  danger  threatens. 
They  are  very  careful  that  none  of  the  collected  grain 
is  lost.  Sometimes,  when  the  nest  is  situated  on  the 
face  of  a  vertical  bank,  the  harvesters  have  considerable 
difficulty  in  dragging  their  loads  through  the  aperture, 


36         A   NATURALIST   IN   IIIMAIAYA 

aiul  in  their  various  struggles  and  manipulations  to 
effect  this,  the  seed  sometimes  slips  from  their  grasp 
and  falls  down  on  to  the  refuse  heap.  But  the  prudent 
harvesters  are  prepared  for  such  accidents  and  the 
seed  is  not  lost.  A  number  of  workers  will  be  seen 
scrambling  about  on  the  refuse  heap,  seeking  for  any 
seeds  that  may  happen  to  fall,  rescuing  them  from  the 
useless  husks  and  conveying  them  back  to  the  nest. 

Migration  of  ants  from  an  overstocked  formicary  is, 
I  have  little  doubt,  an  important  factor  in  effecting  the 
spread  of  many  species.  It  is  very  usual  to  witness 
certain  species  of  ants  transporting  their  larvae  in  a 
long  migratory  stream  to  form  a  new  colony  in  some 
suitable  crevice.  But  it  is  rare  to  see  a  migration  of 
harvesters  ;  they  do  not  appear  often  to  increase  their 
geographical  distribution  by  such  simple  means. 
However,  I  once  did  observe  what  seemed  to  be  a 
modified  migration,  for  it  could  scarcely  be  considered 
a  removal  from  an  old  to  quite  a  new  nest,  but  rather 
a  transference  from  an  overstocked  part  to  a  less 
congested  area  of  the  same  nest.  The  ants  had 
collected  in  a  swarm  about  the  apertures  ;  energetic 
workers  carried  the  larvse  from  out  of  one  opening 
and  hurried  down  another ;  the  excavators  continued 
their  toil  of  digging,  but  the  vast  majority  of  the  ants 
had  joined  together  in  a  dense  and  idle  throng.  I 
never  saw  such  a  concourse  of  harvesters  or  such  a 
display  of  idleness  in  ant  life.  The  few  engaged  in 
transporting  the  larvai  laboured  with  enthusiasm,  but 
the  remainder  were  wrapped  in  sloth.  The  ground 
around,  and  as  far  as  I  could  see  into  the  tunnels 
of  the  nest,  was  a  seething  mass  of  crawling,  lazy 
workers. 


INSTINCTS   OF   HARVESTING   ANTS     37 

The  monotonous  course  of  a  harvester's  Hfe  is  to 
travel  empty  from  the  nest  to  the  ant-field,  select  a 
seed  and  return  laden  to  the  nest.  I  will  later  show 
in  the  case  of  the  geometrical  spiders  and  certain 
insects  that  when  an  instinctive  routine  has  been 
established,  the  creatures  are  in  such  bondage  to  that 
routine  that,  in  face  of  all  obstacles,  the  course  of 
instinct  must  be  fulfilled.  Now  the  harvester,  unlike 
some  other  species,  is  not  an  absolute  slave  to  its 
routine.  It  can  break  the  daily  round  of  action  in 
order  to  suit  altered  conditions.  For  if  the  seed  be 
taken  from  a  harvester  on  its  return  journey  to  the 
nest,  the  ant,  after  vainly  searching  for  its  lost  property, 
will  not  behave  like  certain  other  insects  would,  and 
pursue  its  fruitless  journey  empty-handed  to  the  nest, 
but  will  break  its  routine,  turn  about,  and  return  for 
another  load.  Also,  if  when  travelling  empty  to  the 
field  of  harvest,  it  discovers  a  seed  on  the  main  track, 
it  is  not  impelled  by  instinctive  routine  to  continue  its 
journey  to  the  field,  but  will  pick  up  the  seed,  face 
about,  and  hurry  off  to  the  nest.  Nevertheless,  I 
observed  one  foolish  harvester,  whose  instinct  seemed 
a  more  powerful  guiding  force  than  its  intelligence, 
instead  of  turning  back  towards  the  nest  after  picking 
up  the  seed  from  off  the  track,  struggle  on  in  its 
instinctive  routine  and  continue  to  carry  the  seed 
towards  the  harvesting  ground  further  and  further 
away  from  the  nest. 

The  refusal  to  submit  to  unswerving  instinct  is  made 
manifest  in  this  way.  Block  the  entrance  to  the 
formicary  and  note  the  behaviour  of  the  laden  ants 
when  they  arrive  at  the  closed  door.  They  immedi- 
ately put  things  right.     As  soon  as  they  arrive  at  the 


38         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

nest,  tlicy  lay  down  their  burdens,  drag  away  the 
obstruction,  and  when  the  opening  is  cleared,  again 
take  u[)  their  loads  and  continue  their  journey. 

Instinct,  even  of  the  sternest  kind,  may  often  err. 
It  is  not  unusual  to  witness  harvesters  storing  useless 
materials  in  their  nest.  And  I  think  they  sometimes 
do  this  against  the  better  judgment  of  other  workers. 
For  on  one  occasion  I  saw  a  harvester  dragging  along 
a  stone,  and  though  it  was  forcibly  compelled  by 
another  worker  to  drop  its  useless  burden,  yet  it  again 
returned  to  the  stone  and  persisted  in  lodging  it  safely 
in  the  nest. 

Instinct  may  lead  them  astray,  if  some  of  their  own 
community  are  injured  and  then  placed  near  the 
opening  of  the  nest.  I  have  often  made  this  experi- 
ment, and  observed  with  astonishment  the  signs  of 
hostility  and  resentment  that  the  ants  show  to  their 
injured  comrades.  They  look  on  their  wounded 
sisters  not  as  companions  in  distress,  but  rather  as 
enemies.  They  rush  on  them  with  every  sign  of 
anger.  This  seems  a  curious  case  of  aberration  of 
instinct.  The  ants  instinctively  recognize  that  the 
presence  of  an  injured  companion  must  necessarily 
imply  the  proximity  of  some  enemy  to  cause  the 
injury,  and,  when  they  are  unable  to  detect  the  enemy, 
they  vent  their  hostile  feeling  on  their  dead  and 
wounded  comrades.  Even  after  some  of  their  number 
have  taken  on  themselves  the  duties  of  burial,  others 
will  sometimes  follow  the  body  a  short  distance  to  the 
grave,  not  for  the  purpose  of  paying  their  last  respects 
to  a  dead  comrade,  but,  by  continually  snapping  at  the 
corpse,  to  mark  their  hatred  and  resentment  at  what 
they  falsely  believe  to  be  an  enemy. 


INSTINCTS   OF   HARVESTING   ANTS     39 

In  such  ways  do  the  harvesters  err,  yet  they  share 
their  errors  with  every  other  insect.  I  give  them 
credit  for  a  greater  degree  of  discrimination  than  is 
possessed  by  certain  other  ants.  I  know  of  one 
carnivorous  species  which  if  given  pebbles  moistened 
with  the  juice  of  insects,  will  foolishly  carry  off  the 
pebbles  and  store  them  as  provender  in  the  nest. 
The  harvester  can  make  a  nicer  distinction  than  this. 
I  mingled  with  chopped  walnuts  some  pieces  of 
blotting-paper  soaked  in  the  walnut  juice,  in  the  hope 
of  deceivinor  the  husbandmen  as  I  did  the  carnivorous 
ants.  But  there  was  no  cheating  the  harvesters. 
They  eagerly  sucked  up  the  juice  from  the  blotting- 
paper,  but  made  no  attempt  to  store  the  worthless 
fragments  in  their  nest. 

It  is  very  usual  to  hear  from  one  who  has  not  paid 
special  attention  to  the  habits  of  these  ants  an  ex- 
pression of  surprise  at  their  extraordinary  cleverness. 
And  there  is  no  doubt  that  when  one  first  observes 
their  wonderful  organization,  their  law  and  order,  their 
indefatigable  industry,  the  skilful  methods  by  which 
they  overcome  all  obstacles,  and  to  see  in  every  act 
the  subservience  of  the  will  of  the  individual  to  the 
general  good  of  the  whole  community,  one  is  tempted 
to  exclaim  "  they  are  amongst  the  most  intelligent  of 
living  beings."  But  as  observations  increase,  it 
becomes  more  and  more  evident  that  such  a  conclusion 
would  be  hopelessly  at  fault,  and  that  behind  all  this 
wonderful  social  organization  there  lies  but  the  faintest 
glimmer  of  an  individual  intelligence. 

I  will  give  a  few  observations  illustrating  the 
poverty  of  their  intelligence.  On  one  occasion  I 
discovered  a  nest  situated  just  above  a  large  smooth 


40         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

slcib  of  slate  lying  at  an  angle  of  about  forty-five 
degrees.  The  ants,  in  order  to  pass  from  the  ant- 
ficld  to  the  nest,  had  to  climb  up  this  slippery  slate. 
The  journey  was  a  very  difficult  one,  and  an  ant 
scarcely  ever  succeeded  in  climbing  up  the  slate 
without  falling  down  many  times  and  having  to 
recommence  the  journey  again  and  again.  Numbers 
of  ants  in  this  way  got  lost ;  many  others  were  unable 
to  reach  the  nest  by  nightfall,  and  probably  hid  them- 
selves away  beneath  the  stones.  The  nest  rapidly 
dwindled  as  it  lost  its  workers,  but  the  remaining  ants 
still  persisted  in  their  struggle  up  the  slippery  slate. 
By  travelling  round  the  edge  of  the  slate,  a  not  very 
much  longer  journey,  the  ants  could  have  gathered 
their  harvest  in  safety,  or  they  might  have  migrated 
to  a  more  suitable  nest.  But  these  expedients  never 
seemed  to  strike  the  ants  ;  they  persevered  in  their 
impossible  task  until  all  were  destroyed. 

On  another  evening,  while  exploring  a  little  ravine, 
I  observed  a  more  obvious  instance  of  their  lack  of 
intelligence.  Harvesters,  I  have  already  mentioned, 
carry  the  chaff  and  husks  of  their  seeds  out  of  the  nest, 
and  these  they  carefully  pile  up  into  a  little  refuse  heap 
some  eight  or  ten  inches  clear  of  the  nest.  Now  I 
found  a  nest-opening  on  the  face  of  a  vertical  wall  of 
clay  bordering  the  side  of  the  ravine.  The  ants  were 
carrying  their  loads  up  the  perpendicular  wall.  The 
nest  interested  me  and  I  stayed  to  watch  the  work,  as 
it  was  evident  that  to  transport  the  seeds  up  to  a  nest 
in  such  a  position  must  entail  much  more  labour  than 
if  the  nest  was  situated  on  the  level  around.  How- 
ever,  when  I  noticed  the  pile  of  chaff  and  husks  lying 
on   the  floor  of  the   ravine   below   the   mouth   of  the 


INSTINCTS   OF   HARVESTING   ANTS     41 

nest,  I  thought  that,  after  all,  the  ants  stood  to  gain  as 
much  as  they  lost,  for  instead  of  having  to  make  a 
journey  with  the  refuse  chaff  to  some  little  distance 
from  the  nest,  they  need  only  come  to  the  mouth  of 
the  nest  and  from  there  drop  their  burdens  to  the 
ground.  But  as  I  watched,  to  my  surprise  I  saw  an 
ant  emerge  from  the  nest  with  a  fragment  of  chaff, 
but,  instead  of  dropping  it  to  the  ground,  the  foolish 
insect  actually  climbed  for  nine  inches  down  the 
vertical  wall,  and  then  lowering  its  burden  against  the 
clay,  let  it  fall  down  into  the  ravine.  All  the  other 
ants  engaged  in  the  work  of  removing  refuse  con- 
scientiously followed  its  example.  It  is  an  excellent 
instinct  that  compels  these  creatures  to  carry  the 
fragments  of  refuse  a  short  distance  clear  of  the  nest, 
but  such  was  their  lack  of  intelligence  that,  when  the 
nest  was  situated  on  the  face  of  a  perpendicular  wall, 
they  were  quite  unable  to  modify  that  habit  though  it 
involved  them  in  much  unnecessary  labour.  Yet  in  a 
similarly  situated  nest  further  up  the  ravine  their  folly 
became  almost  ludicrous,  for  here,  not  only  did  they 
make  no  use  of  the  position  of  the  nest  for  dropping 
refuse  to  the  ground,  but  they  actually  carried  the 
fragments  vertically  up  the  wall  until  they  reached  a 
horizontal  ledge  almost  a  foot  above  them,  and  there 
they  carefully  deposited  each  fragment  of  chaff,  which 
was  almost  immediately  blown  away  by  the  wind.  I 
cannot  attribute  to  creatures  that  so  wastefully  expend 
their  energy  in  the  performance  of  such  foolish  acts 
as  these  anything  more  than  the  faintest  spark  of 
intelligence. 

Other  ants  behave  with  equal  folly  when  their  nest 
is  similarly  situated.      I  have  observed  litde  ants  of  the 


42         A   NATURALIST   IN    HIMALAYA 

genus  Tctj-amormm,  when  excavating  their  nest,  carry 
the  loads  of  earth  and  fragments  of  stone  down  a 
vertical  slab  of  rock  and  drop  them  just  as  though 
they  were  removing  the  particles  to  the  mound  of 
ejected  earth  usually  situated  a  short  distance  from 
the  nest.  Had  they  dropped  their  loads  at  the  mouth 
of  the  nest  they  would  have  saved  themselves  a  con- 
siderable amount  of  misspent  energy.  I  suspect  that 
ants  have  no  conception  of  the  different  dimensions  of 
space,  and  that  to  transport  seeds  or  debris  up  the 
vertical  or  alonof  the  horizontal  makes  to  them  no 
sensible  difference,  and  that  when  the  ant  carries  its 
little  load  of  earth  down  the  perpendicular  rock  to  the 
correct  distance  from  its  nest  and  allows  it  to  fall  from 
its  jaws,  it  believes,  if  it  is  capable  of  forming  any 
mental  impression  at  all  on  the  matter,  that  it  is 
building  up  the  usual  pile  of  debris  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  its  nest,  and  is  quite  oblivous  to  the  fact 
that  every  load  it  so  carefully  lays  in  the  correct  place 
falls  downward  to  the  ground.  Men  may  wonder  at 
the  cleverness  of  ants,  but  how  often  do  we  find  that 
their  acts  are  the  acts  of  folly  ? 

Such  are  the  activities  of  the  harvesters  in  their 
daily  life  of  toil.  Guided  by  a  wonderful  instinct,  they 
incessantly  come  and  go  in  strict  obedience  to  the 
duty  of  the  hour.  They  display  some  of  the  best 
qualities  of  a  race ;  a  perseverance  in  industry,  an 
economy  in  provision,  a  resolution  in  defence.  They 
have  evolved  an  organization  for  the  benefit  of  all  in 
which  each  submits  to  the  common  good.  They  live 
in  a  world  of  socialism,  but  know  nothing  of  its  laws. 
Unconscious  of  their  actions,  knowing  not  why  they 
toil,    sufficient    for    the    day    they    labour,    for    they 


INSTINCTS   OF   HARVESTING   ANTS     43 

remember  no  past,  take  thought  for  no  morrow  ;  yet 
are  they  not  happier — if  they  can  feel  happiness — tlian 
the  richest  of  human  beings  ?  For  what  belongs  to 
one  belongs  to  all.  None  is  rich,  none  is  poor ;  all 
enjoy  an  equal  share,  none  can  despise  its  neighbour's 
poverty,  none  envy  its  neighbour's  wealth.  Nor,  since 
they  all  toil  in  a  common  field,  is  there  that  jealous  com- 
petition in  different  spheres  which  amongst  humanity 
divides  class  from  class  to  set  up  barriers  of  envy  and 
discontent.  Having  no  forethought  they  feel  no 
cares,  having  no  ambitions  they  experience  no  regrets. 
Their  life  is  one  of  industry,  their  lot  of  endless  toil. 
They  strive  to  earn  a  livelihood  in  which  each  will 
gain  its  just  share,  but  oblivious  to  all  those  stings  and 
sorrows  which  darken  the  mind  of  man  as  he  looks 
forward  or  backward  on  the  troubled  road  of  life. 


CHAPTER    IV 

CARNIVOROUS    ANTS 

Afynnccfliyslus  seiifics—dcn^xA  habits — Division  of  labour — Food — 
Sense  of  smell— Attitude  of  abdomen — Absence  of  sympathy- 
Mode  of  founding  new  colony — Intelligence — Folly. 

I  PASS  from  the  habits  of  the  Himalayan  harvesters 
to  consider  some  other  species  of  ants  that  occur  less 
frequently  in  this  valley. 

On  the  Indian  borderland,  at  the  foot  of  a  gloomy 
mass  known  as  the  Black  Mountain,  stands  a  small 
stone  fort,  loopholed  and  barricaded,  as  a  protection 
against  the  border  tribes.  All  round  are  towering 
mountains  ;  those  in  the  distance  are  clothed  in  glisten- 
ing snow  ;  those  near  at  hand  are  less  rugged  and  are 
softened  with  a  covering  of  pines.  A  broad  valley  is 
enclosed  by  these  encircling  hills.  It  is  a  green  and 
fertile  tract  studded  with  small  hamlets  and  watered 
with  sinuous  streams. 

Just  outside  the  fort,  under  the  shadow  of  the  Black 
Mountain,  were  some  nests  of  that  active  little  ant, 
Myrmecocystus  setipes.  I  never  saw  this  species  in 
any  other  part  of  Hazara,  though  it  is  extremely 
common  in  the  plains  of  the  Punjab.  How  strange 
that  I  should  find  it  again  far  away  on  the  extreme 
frontier!  It  is  such  a  very  different  creature  from  the 
harvesters  that  I  will  give  a  short  description  of  its 
habits  and  endeavour  to  contrast  the  two  species. 

44 


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CARNIVOROUS  ANTS  45 

Myr7necocystus  setipes  is  a  sturdy  active  species 
much  larger  and  more  ferocious  than  the  harvesters. 
It  is  dark  red  in  colour,  sparsely  clothed  in  a  few 
scattered  hairs.  Its  head  is  large  and  strong,  furnished 
with  powerful  jaws  that  are  armed  with  curved 
pointed  teeth  suited  to  its  predaceous  nature.  A 
narrow  neck  divides  the  head  from  an  elongated 
thorax  which  supports  the  six  dark  slender  legs  and 
ends  behind  in  a  black  conspicuous  abdomen.  A 
distinct  difference  in  size  exists  amongst  the  workers 
of  a  single  nest.  The  larger  individuals  generally 
reach  about  half  an  inch  in  length,  while  the  smaller 
ones  scarcely  exceed  three-eighths  of  an  inch  ;  and 
all  gradations  in  size  are  found  between  the  two 
extremes  (see  Plate,  p.  13). 

It  is  a  predaceous  ant,  existing  chiefly  on  other 
insects,  while  the  harvesters  are  peaceful  husbandmen. 
The  harvesters  move  slowly,  regularly  and  methodic- 
ally along  definite  roads,  but  this  carnivorous  ant  is 
extraordinarily  active,  and  runs  about  in  every 
direction  with  darting  agile  motions  well  suited  to 
its  predaceous  habits.  The  smallest  workers  are 
exceptionally  active,  and  take  great  pains  to  keep 
the  entrance  to  the  nest  smooth  and  clean  by  con- 
tinually digging  in  the  earth  with  their  front  legs, 
shovelling  up  the  larger  granules  and  carrying  them 
away  in  their  mandibles. 

A  community  of  harvesters  contains  thousands  of 
individuals,  but  the  number  in  the  nest  of  Myrme- 
cocystus  probably  does  not  exceed  more  than  about 
thirty  or  forty  members.  Though  possessing  fewer 
workers  than  the  harvesters,  the  excavation  of  the 
nest  is   by  no  means  a  slow  process.     The  ants,   by 


46         A  NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

their  activity,  compensate  for  their  lack  of  numbers. 
To  see  them  hurryino-  from  their  nest  with  a  load 
of  earth,  dashing-  away  to  the  refuse  heap  and  darting 
back  again  with  incredible  speed,  was  to  think  that  in 
their  work  of  excavation  they  were  engaged  in  a  con- 
test against  time.  One  of  these  ants,  which  I  marked, 
carried  out  from  the  interior  of  the  nest  no  less  than 
ten  loads  of  earlh  in  six  minutes,  and  I  do  not  think 
a  harvester  could  undertake  anything  approaching 
such  rapid  work  as  th^it.  Moreover,  in  their  habits 
they  score  over  the  harvesters,  for  they  not  only  carry 
the  particles  from  the  nest,  but  also  possess  a  most 
valuable  habit  of  kicking  back  the  loose  earth  from 
the  mouth  of  the  nest  in  the  same  way  as  a  dog  kicks 
back  the  earth  when  rooting  at  a  burrow.  They  are 
diggers  as  well  as  carriers,  and  by  the  former  process 
they  gain  a  great  advantage,  for,  in  each  individual 
journey  from  the  nest,  the  ant  can  confine  its  efforts 
to  a  large  particle,  and  all  the  smaller  fragments, 
which  to  the  harvester  would  necessitate  innumerable 
journeys,  can  be  swept  backward  with  its  feet. 

A  harvester,  when  it  casts  its  load  of  earth  upon 
the  refuse  heap,  has  no  further  interest  but  to  return 
for  another  load.  The  carnivorous  ant,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  more  attentive  to  the  vicinity  of  its  nest ;  it 
often  spends  a  little  time  amongst  the  refuse,  dragging 
the  larger  fragments  further  away  and  kicking  back 
little  clouds  of  dust  as  though  it  was  trying  to  make 
things  neat  and  tidy,  and  above  all  to  prevent 
the  earth  from  fallinsf  back  agrain  into  the  nest.  In 
this  act  they  often  display  a  division  of  labour.  They 
detail  three  or  four  of  their  members  whose  sole  duty 
it  is  to  pick  away  the  larger  pebbles,  sweep  back  the 


CARNIVOROUS   ANTS  47 

refuse  and  clear  all  earth  from  the  aperture  of  the 
nest. 

Division  of  labour  was  a  character  which  I  was 
always  delighted  to  discover  in  ant  life,  for  the 
specialization  of  work  and  the  allotment  of  different 
tasks  to  the  individuals  of  any  community  is  one  of 
the  surest  manifestations  of  its  mentality  and  advance- 
ment. Just  as  specialization  of  function  indicates  the 
superiority  of  the  individual  being,  so  does  the  division 
of  labour  determine  the  progress  of  the  race.  In  this 
connection  I  will  give  another  instance  to  illustrate 
this  great  principle.  At  sunset  a  worker  might  some- 
times be  observed  paying  very  special  attention  to 
the  outside  of  the  nest.  The  other  ants  have  retired 
to  rest,  and  this  ant  is  clearly  engaged  in  some  special 
individual  work.  It  has  been  detailed  for  the  par- 
ticular duty  of  sealing  up  the  entrance  for  the  night. 
One  evening  1  watched  the  little  labourer  at  work. 
It  carried  the  larger  pebbles  from  the  refuse  heap  and 
dropped  them  down  the  opening  of  the  nest.  It 
dusted  back  the  finer  earth  with  its  hind  legs  so  as 
to  fill  the  crevices  between  the  pebbles  and  firmly 
bar  the  door.  How  strange  it  is  that  the  all-important 
instinct  of  carrying  out  the  pebbles  and  sweeping 
away  the  debris  from  the  nest  should  here  seem  to 
be  reversed,  and  that  the  ant  should  labour  to  replace 
the  same  little  stones  and  the  same  fragments  of  earth 
which,  earlier  in  the  day,  it  had  so  eagerly  cast 
forth  ! 

Having  barred  the  door,  with  the  exception  of  a 
narrow  slit  sufficiently  wide  to  permit  of  its  own  return 
into  the  nest,  the  ant  entered  and,  with  particles  of 
earth   carried    from   the   interior  of   the   formicary,   it 


48         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

sealed  the  crevice  through  which  it  had  passed  and 
then  rejoined  its  comrades  for  the  night.  Without 
assistance  or  interference  the  soHtary  worker  per- 
formed this  important  duty  ;  the  division  of  labour 
in  the  community  had  reached  such  a  degree  of 
advancement  that  the  specialized  toil  of  one  member 
was  to  the  advantage   of  the  whole  nest. 

In  this  instinct,  like  all  others,  are  occasional  mis- 
takes and  imperfections.  I  was  surprised  at  one 
foolish  error  made  by  a  busy  worker  when  engaged 
in  the  evening  duty  of  sealing  the  entrance.  It 
carefully  stuffed  its  load,  transported  with  much 
labour,  into  a  blind  hole  in  the  ground,  presumably 
under  the  impression  that  it  was  barring  the  aperture 
of  its  nest. 

But  the  labour  of  closing  the  formicary  was  not  a 
changeless  routine  as  are  many  instincts  in  many 
species.  For  on  a  subsequent  evening  I  observed  the 
ants  adopting  a  somewhat  different  mode  of  work. 
Not  only  one,  but  a  number  of  workers  took  part ; 
and  instead  of  dropping  the  larger  pebbles  from  out- 
side down  the  mouth  of  the  nest,  they  performed  all 
their  work  within  the  orifice  and  closed  the  opening 
by  piling  up  fragments  of  earth  all  of  which  they 
carried  from  the  interior  of  the  nest. 

As  the  harvesters  cast  out  the  husks  of  the  seeds, 
so  do  these  carnivorous  ants  cast  out  the  shells  of  the 
insects.  At  one  nest  I  watched  them  dragging  out 
shell  after  shell  and  piling  them  up  at  the  distant 
margin  of  the  excavated  earth,  and  I  thought  at  first 
that  they  were  wonderful  sanitarians  for  so  choosing 
the  furthest  limits  of  their  refuse  heap  for  the  de- 
position   of    their    objectionable    burdens.       But    this 


CARNIVOROUS   ANTS  49 

was  certainly  untrue,  and  there  could  have  been 
no  design  or  choice  about  their  actions,  for  when  I 
blocked  the  aperture  of  their  nest  with  insect  shells, 
the  ants  dealt  with  them  in  the  same  way  as  they 
would  treat  an  obstacle  of  earth,  and  deposited  the 
fragments,  not  on  the  shelly  heap,  but  just  outside 
the  mouth  of  the  nest.  I  have  no  doubt  that  it  is 
a  valuable  habit  for  the  ants  to  collect  the  remains 
of  their  carnivorous  food  all  in  the  same  place  some 
distance  from  the  formicary,  and  to  pitch  the  earth 
just  outside  the  gate.  But  it  is  all  unconscious.  It 
illustrates  how  strange  is  instinct  in  its  thoughtless 
action.  The  ants  find  the  nest  blocked  with  the 
shells  of  insects,  an  unusual  discovery.  They  clear 
away  the  obstruction,  but  they  are  unable  to  place 
the  shells  on  the  refuse  heap  for  shells.  All  their 
experience  tells  them  that  the  only  material  that 
blocks  the  gate  is  earth,  and  therefore  the  shells  must 
be  treated  as  such  and  thrown  out  on  to  the  earth 
heap. 

Grasshoppers  are  the  chief  prey  of  this  ant.  But 
bees,  beetles,  larvae  of  all  kinds,  terrestrial  shells,  ants 
of  other  species,  particles  of  dung,  even  their  own 
dead  comrades  are  carried  into  the  nest.  Unlike 
many  other  carnivorous  ants,  they  do  not  combine  in 
vast  numbers  to  overwhelm  their  prey.  They  are  not, 
like  the  harvesters,  of  a  tranquil  and  peace-loving 
temperament,  but  are  strong,  ferocious  and  determined 
ants,  and  are  capable  of  overwhelming  so  many 
insects,  each  by  its  own  individual  efforts,  that  com- 
bination is  not  very  essential  to  the  capture  of  their 
prey. 

Harvesters,    like    civilized    human    beings,    remove 

£ 


50         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

their  dead  far  away  from  their  homes.  These  car- 
nivorous ants,  on  the  other  liand,  arc  degraded 
cannibals,  for  they  drag  their  dead  back  into  the 
nest  and  store  them  up  as  food. 

UnHke  the  harvesters,  these  carnivorous  ants 
have  an  indifferent  sense  of  smell.  Nothing  fills  a 
community  of  harvesters  w^ith  a  greater  feeling  of 
an<'er  or  throws  it  into  such  violent  confusion  as  a 
few  particles  of  camphor  scattered  near  the  nest. 
But  these  ants  are  quite  unaffected  by  the  camphor. 
After  recoverinpf  from  their  slight  alarm  at  the  sioht 
of  the  strange  substance,  they  continue  their  work  of 
excavation  ;  they  make  no  attempt  to  remove  the 
camphor  ;  they  will  even  carry  into  their  nests  insects 
soaked  in  a  solution  of  the  substance,  and  while  every 
harvester  will  spring  backwards  when  it  has  arrived 
within  half  an  inch  of  a  fragment,  a  carnivorous  ant 
of  this  species  will  cross  and  recross  a  mound  of 
camphor  and  apparently  derive  no  more  sensation 
from  it  than  if  it  were  the  hillock  of  earth  that  was 
being  built  up  outside  the  nest.  The  difference  in 
the  sense  of  smell  in  the  two  species  is  readily 
shown  by  drawing  the  finger  across  the  path  of  a 
returning  ant  between  the  insect  and  the  nest.  On 
reaching  the  line  made  by  the  finger  the  harvester 
is  confused  and  lost,  but  the  other,  unaware  of  any 
interference,  continues  on  its  path. 

This  ant  gains  by  acuteness  of  vision  what  it  loses 
by  the  poverty  of  its  sense  of  smell.  By  sight  it 
recognizes  the  approach  of  a  stranger  and  darts  im- 
mediately into  its  nest.  Within  the  shelter  of  the 
fissured  aperture  it  peers  outward  with  quivering 
antennae,  watching  keenly  every  movement,  and  ready 


CARNIVOROUS   ANTS  51 

to  spring  backwards  at  the  slightest  danger.  I 
mention  these  details  in  my  contrast  of  Mymnecocystus 
with  the  harvesters  to  indicate  how  greatly  do  the 
habits,  instincts  and  special  senses  vary  in  the 
different  species  of  ants. 

The  most  obvious  feature  in  the  appearance  of  this 
species  is  the  peculiar  manner  in  which  it  erects  its 
abdomen  when  running  about.  The  whole  abdomen 
is  extremely  mobile,  and  the  slender  pedicle,  that 
connects  it  with  the  insect's  thorax,  allows  it  to  move 
with  such  extreme  freedom  as  to  be  either  extended 
horizontally  behind  or  erected  vertically  in  the  air 
at  right  angles  to  the  remainder  of  the  body.  The 
latter  position  is  the  most  usual,  and  gives  the  ant  a 
terrifying  appearance  as  though  it  were  a  dangerous 
insect  armed  with  a  powerful  and  venomous  sting. 
The  ant  is  really  a  harmless  creature,  and  I  first 
thought  that  this  attitude  was  assumed  for  the  purpose 
of  striking  terror  into  its  enemies  and  giving  them  a 
false  impression  of  its  innocent  nature.  But  this 
ant  has  very  few  enemies,  so  I  suspect  that  this 
strange  attitude  of  the  abdomen  has  not  a  defensive 
function  but  is  really  a  balancing  agent ;  for  when  the 
ant  is  struggling  with  a  heavy  burden  and  attempting 
to  drag  it  over  all  kinds  of  obstacles,  it  is  a  great 
advantage  to  the  insect  to  have  a  large  abdomen 
projecting  out  behind  as  a  counterbalance  to  the 
weight,  and  the  ant  will  naturally  turn  the  abdomen 
up  over  the  thorax  when  the  jaws  are  empty  and  the 
counterbalance  not  required. 

I  had  read  of  certain  ants  treating  one  another  with 
affection,  and  I  have  mentioned  an  instance  of  the 
harvesters  rescuing  their  companions  when    in    diffi- 


O'Z 


A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 


cullies,  so  I  ih(^uoht  that  these  rapacious  workers 
mi^ht,  i)erha[)s,  behind  their  cruel  nature,  possess  a 
little  spark  of  kindness. 

1  imprisoned  one  of  them  by  fixing  its  large  abdomen 
firmly  in  the  earth  and  allowed  the  head  and  thorax 
to    project    above    the    surface.       But    its    fellow-ants 
showed  no  compassion,  no  desire  to  rescue,  not  a  spark 
of  pity.     They  attacked  their  imprisoned  comrade  as 
though  it  was  their  greatest  enemy.    One  endeavoured 
to  bite  off  its  antenna;,  another  to  tear  away  its  legs, 
a  third  seized  its  narrow  neck  and  used  every  effort 
to  decapitate  it.      All  struggled  with   the   prisoner   to 
drag    it    unmercifully    from    the    pit.       Nor    did    the 
imprisoned  ant  see  any  sympathy  in  this  rough  treat- 
ment,  for  it  attacked  every  worker  that  approached, 
opened  wide  its  jaws,  closed  with  its  comrade  as  with 
a  foe  and  batded  for  its  life.     At  length,  having  failed 
by  force  to  drag  it  from  its  prison,  the  workers  com- 
menced to  dig.     As  they  did  not  dig  very  intelligendy 
or  show  any  co-operation  in  their  actions,  it  took  them 
a  long  time  to  uproot  their  companion,  now  wounded 
in  the  struggle.      At  length,  having  unearthed  it,  they 
certainly  bestowed  on   it  no   sympathy,    but  dragged 
the  unfortunate  creature  for  provender  into  the  nest. 
Some    ants    may,   perhaps,   be   imbued   with    a    sense 
of  pity,  but  there  is  no  compassion  in  these  cannibals. 

It  has  frequendy  been  observed  that  ants  possess 
the  peculiar  habit  of  carrying  their  companions  about 
in  their  jaws,  but  it  has  seldom  been  possible  to  detect 
any  purpose  in  this  strange  action.  I  have  noticed 
ants  of  many  different  species  transferring  their 
comrades  from  place  to  place,  but  they  always  seemed 
to  lay  them  down  and  release  them  haphazard  without 


CARNIVOROUS   ANTS  53 

gaining  any  special  object.  However,  one  day  in  a 
nest  of  this  species  which  I  had  under  close  observa- 
tion, I  did  detect  a  reason  for  these  strange  efforts. 
I  noticed  that  at  short  intervals  one  or  two  workers 
emerged  from  the  nest  each  carrying  a  companion  in 
its  jaws.  They  seemed  to  behave  with  more  purpose 
than  usual.  Each  emerged  hurriedly  ;  each  made  off 
in  the  same  direction  ;  each  acted  with  enthusiasm  as 
though  it  had  an  object  in  view.  I  followed  one  of 
these  ants  and  found  that  it  conveyed  its  companion 
to  another  nest  of  the  same  species  seventy-two  feet 
distant.  The  other  ants  were  encrac^ed  in  the  same 
task.  A  continual  transfer  of  workers  was  in  progress 
from  nest  to  nest,  and  the  transferred  ants  were  always 
carried  by  their  companions.  The  supported  ant  lay 
passive  and  resistless.  It  hung  back  downwards 
beneath  its  supporter,  with  its  slender  legs  entwined 
round  the  body  and  jaws  clutching  tightly  the  jaws 
of  its  companion. 

I  have  some  doubts  as  to  why  this  transfer  of  ants 
should  take  place  from  nest  to  nest  and  why  so  strange 
a  mode  of  transit  should  be  necessary.  I  do  not  think 
that  the  ants  of  the  one  nest  were  stealing  workers  from 
the  other  nest,  for  they  acted  quite  openly  and  were 
not  treated  as  enemies,  nor  did  the  transferred  workers 
make  any  resistance  as  they  presumably  would  if  they 
were  being  carried  surreptitiously  away.  Nor  could  it 
have  been  a  case  of  slaves  transporting  their  masters, 
for  both  the  carriers  and  the  carried  were  of  the  same 
species.  I  frequently  observed  this  transference  on 
subsequent  occasions  and  found  it  to  be  a  general 
habit  of  this  ant.  I  suspect  that  it  is  a  modified 
migration ;  a  mode  of  founding  a  new  nest  when  the 


51         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

old  one  becomes  overpopuhited.  It  is  possible,  though 
this  is  only  a  conjecture,  that,  as  the  season  advances 
and  the  nest  is  densely  thronged  from  the  development 
of  many  workers,  it  becomes  essential  for  the  com- 
munity to  expand  and  found  new  colonies  elsewhere. 
One  or  more  workers  proceed  on  a  voyage  of  dis- 
covery and  thoroughly  explore  the  vicinity  of  the 
nest.  Havinc[-  found  a  crevice  suitable  for  the  estab- 
lishmcnt  of  a  colony,  the  worker  returns  to  the  old 
nest  and  lays  the  foundation  of  the  new  home  by 
transferring  workers  one  by  one  in  its  jaws  until 
sufficient  have  been  carried  off  to  relieve  the  con- 
gestion in  the  old  nest  and  lay  the  foundation  of  the 
new  colony.  This,  I  think,  is  one  method  by  which 
this  species  increases  its  geographical  range,  though 
the  process  is  undoubtedly  a  remarkable  one.  How- 
ever, after  having  hundreds  of  times  seen  workers 
transferred  from  place  to  place  by  their  companions 
for  no  apparent  purpose,  I  was  interested  to  observe 
at  last  worker  carry  worker  for  the  achievement  of  a 
definite  object. 

It  is  difficult  to  read  the  accounts  of  the  habits  of 
ants  as  observed  by  our  greatest  naturalists  without 
feeling  some  faith  in  the  power  of  intelligence  so  often 
ascribed  to  these  insects.  I  could  see  little  of  such 
high  mental  powers  in  the  life  of  the  harvesters,  and, 
in  my  account  of  their  activities,  I  have  dwelt  more 
on  their  folly  than  on  their  reason.  But  I  look  with 
another  eye  on  this  species,  for  I  once  carefully 
observed  a  wonderful  act,  which,  unless  I  make  a 
grievous  error,  I  must  consider  a  manifestation  of  real 
intelligence. 

On  a  cool  dry  evening  I  discovered  a  nest  of  this 


CARNIVOROUS   ANTS  55 

species  on  the  side  of  a  bank  bordering  a  field  of 
Indian  corn,  and  noticed  that  the  earth  which  the  ants 
were  throwing  out  had  accumulated  in  the  form  of 
a  steep  cone  extending  base  downward  from  the  mouth 
of  the  nest.  It  was  like  a  landslip  down  the  side  of 
a  hill,  and,  whenever  an  ant  emerged  with  its  little 
load  of  earth  and  ran  out  on  to  the  apex  of  the  cone, 
the  loose  sheet  of  earth  crumbled  away  beneath  its 
little  feet  and  it  tumbled  down  the  slippery  cone.  The 
position  of  the  ants  at  each  exit  from  the  nest  resembled 
that  of  a  man  on  the  snow-slope  of  a  mountain  in 
imminent  danger  of  losing  his  foothold  and  rolling 
down  into  the  valley. 

The  next  evening,  on  visiting  the  nest,  I  found  that 
the  ants  were  adopting  a  wonderful  and  most  ingenious 
method  of  overcoming  their  difficulties  by  making  the 
ground  so  firm  and  resisting  beneath  their  feet  as  to 
prevent  their  fall.  One  energetic  worker  had  been 
detailed  to  collect  pebbles  from  the  foot  of  the  cone, 
to  carry  them  up  the  slope  and  build  a  level  platform 
of  stones  over  the  apex  of  the  cone  just  outside  the 
mouth  of  the  nest.  As  the  workers  emerged  they 
now  no  longer  moved  over  the  crumbling  and  slippery 
earth,  but  over  the  firm  and  secure  platform  of 
pebbles. 

I  watched  the  ant  in  this  strange,  intelligent  labour. 
Down  the  slope  it  hurried  to  search  for  a  suitable 
pebble.  Backwards  and  forwards  amongst  the  larger 
fragments,  which  by  their  weight  had  rolled  to  the 
very  foot  of  the  slope,  it  rushed  about  in  enthusiastic 
haste.  It  was  now  digging  in  the  ground  for  suitable 
fragments,  now  turning  over  the  pebbles,  now  testing 
the  weight  of  the  larger  stones  or  attempting  to  drag 


56         A  NATURALIST   IN    HIMALAYA 

those  too  heavy  for  its  strengtli.  It  was  never  content 
to  take  the  first  pebble  that  offered,  but  was  continually 
selecting  as  though  choice  was  an  important  factor  in 
the  perfection  of  its  work.  Back  again  to  the  platform 
it  struggled  with  the  chosen  pebble  ;  up  the  slippery 
cone  it  toiled,  now  pushing,  now  dragging  its  heavy 
burden.  Ever  stumbling,  often  slipping  down  the 
crumbling  slope,  it  laboured  on  in  its  persistent  toil. 
So  great  was  its  energy  and  determined  its  efforts  that 
it  seemed  to  recognize  the  importance  of  its  task. 
Hour  after  hour  it  laboured  on.  Repeatedly  it  re- 
turned for  pebble  after  pebble.  No  other  ant  ever 
relieved  it ;  none  ever  shared  its  monotonous  toil. 
All  alone  it  struggled  to  build  a  platform  of  pebbles  to 
save  its  fellow-creatures  from  misfortune. 

The  platform  consisted  of  a  layer  of  stones  spread 
over  the  apex  of  the  cone  outside  the  entrance  of  the 
nest.  The  worker  did  not  cast  down  its  burdens 
haphazard,  but  selected  a  suitable  place  for  the  deposit 
of  each  load,  and  often  carried  its  pebble  all  round 
the  mouth  of  the  nest  before  it  was  satisfied  in  its 
choice.  Thouorh  the  other  workers  took  no  active 
part  in  fetching  pebbles  or  building  up  the  platform, 
yet  they  rendered  a  milder  form  of  assistance,  for  as 
they  emerged  from  the  nest  in  their  work  of  excava- 
tion they  occasionally  dropped  a  few  fragments  of 
earth  between  the  pebbles  of  the  platform,  and  this 
served  to  cement  the  mass. 

I  thought  I  would  help  the  solitary  and  laborious 
worker  in  its  strenuous  task,  so  I  added  a  few  pebbles 
to  the  platform,  but  the  other  ants  would  have  none 
of  this  interference,  and  immediately  seized  my  pebbles 
in  their  jaws  and  hurled  them  down  the  slope.    I  think 


CARNIVOROUS   ANTS  57 

that  they  recognized  them  by  the  smell  of  my  fingers, 
for  two  pebbles  which  I  did  not  touch  but  added  to 
the  platform  on  the  point  of  a  knife  were  allowed  to 
remain. 

I  know  the  danger  of  applying  a  human  motive  to 
the  behaviour  of  any  insect,  yet  I  could  not  escape 
the  impression  that  the  building  of  this  platform  of 
pebbles  was  the  most  remarkable  instance  of  division 
of  labour  in  an  ant  community  that  I  had  ever  seen 
and  the  strongest  testimony  to  their  possession  of 
intelligence. 

In  the  mountains  of  Kashmir  I  have  seen  a  narrow 
path  crossing  a  dangerous  landslip  and  a  Kashmiri 
workman  building  up  a  rampart  of  stones  to  prevent 
the  traveller  from  losing  his  foothold  and  falling  down 
to  his  destruction.  That  certainly  would  be  described 
as  an  intelligent  action  on  the  part  of  the  workman. 
Nor  can  I  see  much  difference  between  the  mental 
attitude  of  that  laborious  little  ant  which  spent  hour 
after  hour  building  up  a  platform  of  stones  to  save  its 
fellow-ants  from  tumbling  down  the  slope  and  the 
mental  condition  of  the  Kashmiri  workman  who 
laboured  to  build  a  stony  rampart  to  prevent  his 
fellow-creatures  from  rolling  down  into  the  valley. 

This  wonderful  method  of  building  up  pebbles  at 
the  mouth  of  the  nest  is  also  undertaken  by  them 
under  different  conditions.  I  have  seen  a  nest  so 
situated  that  the  earth  thrown  out  by  the  ants  formed 
a  circular  hill  around  the  aperture,  and  the  excavated 
earth  tended  to  fall  back  into  the  nest.  But  the  ants 
overcame  the  threatened  calamity  by  detailing  one  of 
their  number  to  build  a  rampart  of  stones  around  the 
opening  of  the  nest   inside  the  circular    hillock  and. 


58         A   NATURALISE    IN    HIMALAYA 

so  prevent  the  excavated  earth  from  rolling  backward 
into  the  nest. 

All  this  seems  intelligent.  It  resembles  the  act  of 
a  rational  being.  But  in  the  midst  of  this  seeming 
intelligence  I  must  give  an  example  of  their  utter 
folly. 

I  have  mentioned  that  these  ants  so  divide  their 
toil  dial  certain  workers  are  detailed  to  remain  outside 
the  nest  for  the  very  important  duty  of  carrying  off 
the  pebbles  and  sweeping  away  the  fmer  refuse  so  as 
to  prevent  it  falling  back  again  into  the  nest.  But  I 
discovered  a  nest  situated  on  the  face  of  a  steep  bank 
three  feet  above  the  level  ground.  The  ants  were 
engaged  in  excavation.  Each  ant  carried  out  its  little 
load,  conveyed  it  about  six  inches  down  the  bank  and 
then  laid  it  against  the  steep  side  of  the  bank,  from 
where  it,  of  course,  tumbled  down  to  the  level  ground. 
That  in  itself  was  folly,  the  same  folly  as  the  harvesters, 
for  the  ants  would  have  saved  themselves  much 
unnecessary  labour  had  they  dropped  their  loads  from 
the  aperture  of  the  nest  and  not  carried  them  six 
inches  down  the  bank. 

But  what  utter  folly.  What  apparent  absence  of 
the  first  rudiments  of  intelligence  when  I  looked  at 
the  mound  of  excavated  earth  three  feet  below  on  the 
level  ground.  There  I  saw  six  busy  workers  earnestly 
engaged  at  work  on  the  mound.  Each  was  hurrying 
backwards  and  forwards  picking  up  the  pebbles  and 
carrying  them  away  to  the  edge  of  the  mound,  digging 
and  uprooting  the  larger  fragments  of  earth  and  sweep- 
ing back  the  finer  dust  with  such  energy  that  one 
might  think  it  was  in  imminent  danger  of  tumbling 
back  into  the  nest,     Assuredly  the  an^s  did  think  so, 


CARNIVOROUS   ANTS  59 

yet  the  aperture  of  the  nest  was  three  feet  above  them. 
So  great  was  their  folly  and  so  impulsive  was  their 
instinct  that  they  found  themselves  driven  to  indulge 
in  the  useless  labour  of  clearing  away  the  fragments 
from  a  nest  into  the  aperture  of  which  they  could  not 
possibly  fall. 

And  thus  does  folly  seem  to  contradict  intelligence 
and  ignorance  to  clash  with  reason.  Would  that  we 
could  know  what  was  working  in  the  insect's  brain 
when  it  built  up  the  valuable  platform  and  when,  on 
the  distant  rubbish  heap,  it  expended  its  energies  in 
useless  toil.  Why  is  it  now  intelligent,  why  now 
foolish  ?  Why  these  inconsistencies  ?  For  in  Nature 
there  are  no  real  contradictions ;  all  moves  by 
unalterable  law. 


CHAPTER   V 

COMMUNICATING   AND    OTHER    ANTS 

Phidolc  imiica — Mode  of  attack — Power  of  communication — Experiments 
on  faculty  of  communication  — Sense  of  smell — Every  individual  in 
nest  differs — Division  of  labour— Attitude  of  Crc  mas  togas  ier — 
Migrations  oi  Acantholepis — Sexual  forms  oi  Camponotus. 

The  power  of  ants  to  communicate  intelligence  one 
to  another  has  been  at  different  times  affirmed  and 
denied.  I  have  shown  how  feeble  is  this  power  in 
the  Indian  harvesters,  nor  does  it  seem  much  more 
highly  developed  in  Myrmecocystus.  It  is  therefore 
instructive  to  consider  another  species  in  which  this 
faculty  is  perfected  to  an  astonishing  degree  and  on 
which  the  existence  of  the  community  essentially 
depends. 

A  little  ant,  widely  spread  through  Continental 
India  and  ascending  to  the  Hazara  valley,  is  known 
to  science  as  Phidole  mdica.  I  will  mention  this 
species  with  some  detail,  as  I  have  seen  no  ant  in 
which  the  power  of  communication  is  developed  to  so 
hi(jh  a  degfree.  It  is  clear  to  the  most  casual  observer 
that  two  very  different  kinds  of  workers  exist  in  a 
nest  of  the  Phidole.  There  are  the  soldiers  and  the 
smaller  workers.  The  soldiers  are  few  in  number, 
strong  and  massive  in  their  general  build,  while  the 
smaller  workers  are  slender,  more  agile,  and  swarm 
about  the  nest  in  hundreds.  Nor  do  we  see  any 
intermediate  gradations  connecting  the  two  different 

m 


COMMON    ANTS    OF    HAZARA. 


I  and  2.     Phidole  indica.     Soldier  and  smaller  worker. 

3  and  4.     Camponolus  compyessus.     Sexual   form  and   worker. 

5.     Acantholcpis  frauenfeldi. 

[Face  p.   60.] 


COMMUNICATING   AND   OTHER   ANTS     61 

classes.  They  are  quite  distinct  in  build,  and  we 
shall  see  that  they  perform  different  functions.  The 
soldiers  seem  to  be  in  about  one  to  five  hundred  of 
the  smaller  workers.  Each  possesses  an  enormous 
square  head,  large  out  of  all  proportion  to  its  slender 
body,  and  severed  above  by  a  deep  median  cleft.  It 
is  of  a  dark  brown  colour  with  a  light  red  thorax 
clothed  in  a  few  pale  hairs.  From  the  thorax  a  pair 
of  sharp  spines  projects  upwards,  and  behind  is  attached 
a  glossy,  almost  black  abdomen.  The  smaller  workers 
are  scarcely  one-eighth  of  an  inch  in  length,  not  very 
much  shorter  than  the  soldiers,  but  distinctly  less 
powerful  and  robust.  I  do  not  think  the  head  of  a 
smaller  worker  can  be  one-tenth  the  size  of  that  of 
a  soldier,  nor  has  it  the  peculiar  deep  cleft  that  nearly 
severs  the  head  of  a  soldier  into  two  separate  lobes  ; 
though  for  some  reason,  possibly  connected  with  its 
more  highly  developed  functions,  it  possesses  distinctly 
longer  antennae. 

I  will  pass  immediately  to  the  power  of  communica- 
tion in  this  species,  which  is  remarkably  acute.  These 
ants  are  carnivorous  and  capture  insects  and  larvae 
alive.  The  workers  are  so  very  small  that  by  their 
individual  strength  they  can  effect  little.  It  is  only 
by  the  combined  efforts  of  the  whole  community, 
under  the  direction  of  the  soldiers,  that  a  capture  is 
made. 

As  soon  as  a  worker  discovers  a  caterpillar  or  other 
suitable  material  for  food,  it  proceeds  to  make  a  care- 
ful examination  of  its  prey.  It  runs  all  over  the 
caterpillar,  exploring  it  with  its  sensitive  antennae, 
shaking  it  with  its  jaws  and  attempting  to  drag  it  to 
the  nest.     The  worker,  satisfying  itself  that  the  dis- 


62         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

covcry  is  suitable  for  storaj^e  and  finding  the  removal 
of  it  beyond  its  own  weak  efforts,  hastens  off  to  the 
nest  in  j^reat  excitement  and  by  the  shortest  route. 
It  meets  another  worker  on  its  path  ;  their  antennae 
meet  ;  the  second  worker  is  imbued  with  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  first,  has  received  information  of  the  discovery 
and  hastens  off  to  the  insect.  A  third,  a  fourth, 
and  possibly  more  workers  are  similarly  informed 
on  the  route  and  all  hurry  away  to  lend  their  assistance. 
But  the  excited  discoverer  hastens  on  to  the  nest. 
Now  it  has  reached  the  entrance.  It  enters  and  is 
lost  to  view.  In  a  few  seconds  a  swarm  of  rushing, 
bustling  and  excited  ants,  led  by  a  number  of  ferocious 
soldiers,  come  dashino-  headlono-  from  the  nest.  From 
the  way  they  are  all  lying  in  readiness  just  within  the 
door  and  emerge  at  the  same  moment  in  one  body 
as  though  they  were  awaiting  a  call  for  aid,  I 
have  no  doubt  but  that  these  ants  so  divide  their 
labour  that  certain  workers  are  detailed  for  the 
duty  of  discovering  food,  and  others,  under  the 
guidance  of  the  soldiers,  are  under  orders  to  remain 
in  permanent  readiness  within  the  door  of  the  nest 
to  hurry  out  and  render  assistance  when  news  arrives 
that  a  discovery  has  been  made. 

The  news  has  come.  Out  they  swarm  in  a  dense 
throng  preceded  by  the  soldiers.  Without  the  slight- 
est hesitation  they  hurry  over  the  ground,  passing  and 
repassing  one  another  in  their  excited  haste.  In 
amongst  the  stones,  round  the  fallen  leaves  and 
stems  of  grass  they  retrace  the  track  of  the  discoverer. 
They  have  reached  the  caterpillar.  Round  about 
it  they  collect  in  a  struggling  and  ferocious  swarm. 
They    cluster    over    it    in     hundreds,    cling    into    its 


COMMUNICATING   AND   OTHER  ANTS     63 

head  and  back,  and  seize  on  to  its  limbs  ;  but  it  is 
at  the  tail  of  the  larva  that  they  make  the  sternest 
attack.  There  they  firmly  attach  themselves  with 
their  minute  jaws  while  with  their  hind  legs  they 
cling  to  every  pebble  so  that  the  larva  in  the  en- 
deavour to  make  good  its  escape  drags  behind  it  a 
little  hillock  of  pebbles.  These  impede  its  progress 
and  give  the  ants  time  to  bring  up  reinforcements 
to  the  attack.  On  all  sides  they  besiege  the  larva, 
which  tries  in  vain  by  violent  contractions  to  throw 
off  its  enemies.  The  battle  orows  hot  and  fierce. 
The  caterpillar  in  its  struggles  now  gains  the  mastery, 
but  ants  hurrying  on  in  increasing  numbers  gradually 
overpower  it.  Workers,  at  intervals,  retire  from 
the  battle  and  hasten  back  to  the  nest  at  the  greatest 
speed  to  call  out  more  reinforcements  and  hurl  them 
into  the  fight.  The  caterpillar  weakens  ;  it  cannot 
face  these  repeated  additions  to  the  strength  of  its 
foes.  It  is  overwhelmed  by  the  force  of  numbers, 
soon  becomes  exhausted,  and  then  lies  at  the  mercy 
of  the  ants  which,  clinging  in  a  body  round  their 
powerless  victim,  drag  it  slowly  to  the  nest. 

I  have  often  watched  a  contest  of  this  nature  in 
which  the  prey  was  almost  always  vanquished.  But 
the  strangest  thing  I  observed  in  this  connection  was 
that,  not  only  did  the  ants  remove  their  victim  larva, 
but,  in  addition,  the  little  stones  and  fragments  of 
grass  that  had  come  in  close  contact  with  the  body 
of  the  larva  were  also  dragged  deliberately  to  the 
nest.  I  killed  a  grasshopper  and  moistened  a  number 
of  small  stones  with  the  juice  from  its  body  and  then 
gave  them  to  the  ants,  and  these  stones  were  also 
removed  to  the  nest.      It  appears  that  the  ants  carry 


64         A   NATURALIST   IN   HDIALAYA 

off  to  their  nest  the  fragments  of  stone  and  grass 
under  the  impression  that  they  are  actually  edible  sub- 
stances, though  in  reality  they  have  been  only  moistened 
externally  with  the  animal  juices.  I  was  surprised 
to  find  that  a  group  of  insects  possessed  of  such 
remarkable  instincts  should  have  been  so  hopelessly 
misled  as  to  confound  animal  tissues  with  stones. 

r>uL  I  must  return  to  their  power  of  communication 
by  virtue  of  which  a  single  ant  can  inform  the  nest 
of  its  discovery  of  prey,  can  launch  the  awaiting 
army  to  the  attack,  and  can,  if  necessary,  return  again 
and  again  to  call  successive  reinforcements  to  its 
aid.  This,  I  think,  is  a  true  communication,  a  real 
transfer  of  information  from  one  ant  to  the  remainder 
of  the  body,  and  as  a  consequence  of  which,  a  distinct 
series  of  activities  result.  Wonderful  as  is  the  instinct 
of  communication  and  essential  as  it  is  to  the  life 
of  the  community,  yet  like  every  instinct  it  is  imperfect 
and  capable  of  confusion.  I  gave  a  dead  insect  to 
a  worker.  The  busy  little  creature  hurried  back  with 
the  news  of  its  discovery  and  in  a  few  moments  the 
swarm  came  rushino-  to  the  scene.  I  then  removed 
the  insect,  and  the  ants,  finding  nothing,  returned  to 
the  nest.  I  then  placed  the  insect  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  nest.  A  worker  soon  discovered  it  and 
brought  back  the  news.  Again  the  swarm  issued 
from  the  nest,  but  confusion  almost  at  once  followed. 
Many  ants  hurried  along  the  correct  track  and  found 
the  insect,  but  others,  as  though  still  confused  by 
the  memory  of  their  previous  exit,  hastened  to  the 
spot  where  the  insect  was  first  placed  and  searched 
for  it  in  vain.  On  another  occasion  I  have  observed 
the  instinct  so  confused  and  the  swarm  so  lost  in  its 


I 


COMMUNICATING  AND   OTHER   ANTS     65 

efforts  to  find  the  object  to  which  k  was  summoned, 
that  the  original  discoverer,  previously  marked  with 
a  speck  of  paint,  has  had  again  to  return  to  the  nest 
and  call  out  the  swarm  a  second  time. 

The  ants  are  sufficiently  careful  not  to  empty  com- 
pletely their  nest  when  the  swarm  emerges.  The 
whole  strength  is  not  lost  in  one  effort.  A  reserve 
swarm  is  left  in  readiness  within  the  nest  to  be  called 
out  should  information  be  received  of  a  second 
discovery  while  the  main  swarm  is  engaged  in  over- 
coming the  first.  Or  should  the  contest  be  severe, 
the  ants  will  have  reinforcements  in  readiness  to 
advance  and  support  their  fellows.  Like  the  prudent 
commander'  of  an  army,  they  rarely  throw  the  whole 
strength  of  their  force  at  one  moment  into  the  struggle, 
but  rather  keep  a  strong  reinforcement  in  reserve  to 
be  sent  forward  should  necessity  arise. 

This,  in  truth,  is  a  wonderful  power  of  communica- 
tion, for  not  only  does  the  worker  supply  the  informa- 
tion that  it  has  discovered  something,  but  it  can 
communicate  to  its  fellow-workers  the  place  where  the 
discovery  has  been  made.  The  other  ants  which  I 
have  described  could  never  have  transferred  one 
to  the  other  such  definite  communication  as  this. 

The  process  is  worth  further  investigation,  so  I 
describe  the  following  observations  and  simple  ex- 
periments to  shed  some  light  on  the  manner  in  which 
I  believe  it  works.  At  first  it  appeared  possible  that 
the  returning  ant  might  have  caused  the  excitement 
in  the  swarm  and  urged  them  into  activity  by  bringing 
into  the  nest  a  tiny  fragment  of  the  discovered 
treasure.  But  I  am  certain  that  this  was  not  so, 
but    that   the   communication   was   a   real    transfer   of 


66         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

information.  I  never  could  detect  the  slightest  trace 
of  a  fragment  of  the  insect  in  the  jaws  of  the  returning 
ant,  and  sometimes  the  discoverer  would  merely 
examine  the  tarsus  of  the  insect  before  returning  to 
call  out  the  swarm,  and  from  the  hard  tarsus  it  could 
certainly  not  tear  away  a  fragment.  JNIoreover,  I  was 
later  able  to  convince  myself  that  the  swarm  was  not 
excited  by  the  sight  or  smell  of  a  particle  of  the  prey, 
for  I  found  that  certain  workers  in  the  community 
were  quite  unable  to  communicate,  and  though  they 
returned  again  and  again  with  fragments  of  the  dis- 
covered insect,  they  did  not  in  the  slightest  degree 
excite  the  swarm,  nor  were  they  able  to  give  any 
information  of  their  valuable  discovery. 

In  some  way  or  other  it  is  within  the  power  of  a 
single  worker,  independent  of  anything  it  may  carry 
to  the  nest,  to  convey  information  to  a  swarm  of  other 
workers,  and  to  announce  to  them  the  valuable  fact 
that  "  I  have  discovered  food."  But  how  this  process 
of  communication  works,  by  what  mechanism  the  one 
ant  transmits  its  information  or  the  other  ant  receives 
it,  I  find  it  not  only  difficult  to  understand  but  even  to 
investicfate.  I  will  therefore  consider  in  more  detail 
the  second  link  in  the  process,  as  I  find  it  more 
intelligible ;  namely,  the  power  possessed  by  the 
solitary  ant  of  directing  the  struggling,  hurrying  swarm 
straight  to  the  discovered  insect. 

At  first  I  thouofht  that  the  ant  returnino;  with  the 
news  led  the  swarm  from  the  nest  and  directed  them 
along  the  true  road  ;  that  the  discovering  ant  was  the 
leader  and  that  the  swarm  followed  in  its  train.  It 
was  necessary  to  mark  the  discoverer  with  a  speck 
of  paint    in   order   to   investigate    the    matter.     This 


COMMUNICATING   AND   OTHER   ANTS     67 

is  a  difficult  operation.  The  workers  are  so  tiny,  so 
agile  and  quick  in  their  movements,  so  excited  and 
easily  frightened  that  the  slightest  touch  fills  them 
with  alarm.  At  last  after  many  days  and  innumer- 
able unsuccessful  attempts,  I  succeeded  in  marking 
three  ants  without  terrifying  them  out  of  their 
senses.  I  found  that  the  worker  returning  with  the 
news  of  the  discovery  emerged  from  the  nest,  not 
at  the  head  of  the  issuing  throng  as  though  it  was 
acting  as  a  leader,  but  appeared  in  the  midst  of  the 
swarm.  Nor  was  it  essential  as  a  guide  to  the  true 
road  which  led  to  the  discovery,  for  many  of  the  ants 
in  the  issuing  swarm  outran  it  and  came  first  to  the 
treasure.  Undoubtedly  its  presence  in  the  swarm  was 
a  great  assistance,  for  many  of  the  ants  would  rush  up 
to  the  marked  ant,  rub  their  antennae  against  it  and 
then  hasten  off  to  the  insect  in  the  greatest  excitement 
as  though  they  had  gained  valuable  information  by 
contact  with  the  discoverer.  But  it  is  certain  that  the 
discovering  ant,  once  it  has  given  information,  is  no 
longer  essential  as  a  guide  to  the  swarm,  for  I 
captured  one  of  the  marked  ants  at  the  moment  of  its 
emergence  from  the  nest,  and  the  swarm,  in  its 
absence,  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  insect. 

Since  the  returning  ant  cannot  act  solely  as  a  guide 
and  since,  indeed,  its  presence  seems  to  be  no  longer 
essential  once  it  has  passed  its  information  to  the 
awaiting  throng,  it  was  difficult  to  form  any  other 
conclusion  but  that  the  issuing  ants  found  their  way 
to  the  treasure  by  retracing  the  scent  of  the  returning 
ant. 

I  think  that  this  can  be  the  only  explanation,  for 
when    the   swarm    is    hurrying    to    the    discovery    it 


68         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

certainly  does  follow  back  along  the  track  of  the 
discovering  ant,  but  if  the  finger  be  drawn  across  the 
track  so  as  to  disturb  the  scent,  then  the  swarm  of 
ants  will  be  thrown  into  confusion.  The  line  drawn 
by  the  finger  will  form  a  regular  barrier  over  which 
the  ants  will  cross  with  difficulty,  or  at  which  they  will 
lose  their  way  and  return  to  the  nest.  Members  of 
the  issuing  swarm,  I  have  said,  repeatedly  communi- 
cate with  the  discoverer,  and  they  act  thus,  I  believe, 
because  they  are  following  the  scent  of  the  discovering 
ant  and  wish  to  reassure  themselves  that  they  are  on 
the  right  scent  by  again  testing  the  odour  of  the  ant. 
For  this  odour  is  a  guide  to  the  true  road. 


Fig.  I. — Experiment  with  Communicating  Ant. 

But  a  few  simple  experiments  will  confirm  the 
matter.  If  a  dead  insect  be  fixed  to  the  top  of  a 
stick  standing  erect  on  the  ground,  and  a  worker  be 
placed  on  the  insect  and  then  allowed  to  run  down  the 
stick,  return  to  the  nest  and  inform  the  swarm  of  its 
discovery,  then  the  issuing  swarm  will  have  no  diffi- 
culty in  finding  the  insect  in  this  strange  position. 
But  if,  after  the  departure  of  the  worker,  the  vertical 
stick  be  replaced  by  another  similar  stick,  then  the 
swarm  will  be  thrown  into  confusion  at  the  base  of 
the  new  stick  owing  to  the  scent  being  there  lost. 

Now  if  F  (Fig.  i)  be  the  discovered  food,  N  the 
nest  and  FN  the  returning  path  of  the  discovering  ant, 
and  if,  on  that  path  at  the  point  A,  the  ant  be  raised 
from  the  ground  and  transferred  to  B,  then  the  swarm 


COMMUNICATING  AND   OTHER  ANTS     69 

on  emerging  from  N  will  proceed  rapidly  to  B,  but  at 
that  point  will  be  thrown  into  confusion  and  unable  to 
advance  further  owing  to  the  gap  in  the  scent  between 
B  and  A. 

Those  who  believe  in  the  hypothetical  sense  of 
direction,  supposed  to  guide  ants  in  their  wonderful 
journeys,  might  suspect  that  it  was  some  strange 
directive  power,  inexplicable  to  us,  that  impelled  the 
swarm  along  the  true  road.  I  do  not  think  that  this 
is  the  case,  for  I  placed  a  dead  insect  on  the  end  of 
a  horizontal  stick  directed  to  the  west  and  allowed  the 
worker,  after  making  its  discovery,  to  run  back  along 
the  stick  on  its  way  to  the  nest.  Then,  during  the 
absence  of  the  worker,  I  rotated  the  stick  in  a  semi- 
circle so  that  it  was  directed  to  the  east,  but  the 
swarm  on  reaching  the  foot  of  the  stick  were  not 
confused ;  they  hurried  along  it  without  hesitation 
though  its  direction  had  been  reversed, 

I  feel  confident  that  their  wonderful  power  of  scent 
is  their  true  guide.  No  other  explanation  seems  to  fit 
the  facts.  I  think  that  the  ants  within  the  nest 
recognize  the  distinctive  odour  of  the  worker  that 
brings  the  news,  and  can  thus  retrace  the  track  which 
that  particular  worker  has  followed.  The  information 
which  the  returning  ant  communicates  to  its  fellows 
appears  to  be  this,  "  I  have  found  food  ;  retrace  my 
scent  and  you  will  find  it." 

When  observing  the  harvesters,  I  was  driven  to 
the  conclusion  that  each  individual  in  the  community 
was  capable  of  distinguishing  its  own  odour  from  that 
of  every  other  individual  in  the  nest  and  that,  there- 
fore, each  ant  must  have  a  distinctive  scent.  Here 
we  are  forced  to  a  similar  conclusion,  for  the  swarm 


70         A   NATURALIST   IN   IIDIALAYA 

must  distinguish  the  specific  odour  of  eacli  returning 
worker,  and  if  so,  then  every  single  worker  must  have 
a  distinctive  scent. 

How  marvellous  are  the  manifold  works  of  Nature, 
and  what  extraordinary  conclusions  are  we  forced  to 
form  when  we  endeavour  to  penetrate  the  secrets  of 
her  work.  It  is  interesting  to  contemplate  a  host  of 
hurrying  ants,  to  see  them  advance  in  mass  to  the 
attack,  do  battle  with  the  foe  and  drag  it  to  the  nest. 
It  is  instructive  to  witness  their  strategy,  their  system, 
their  organization  and  the  union  of  all  for  the  general 
good  ;  but  few  thoughts  can  be  more  wonderful,  few 
can  fill  us  with  a  deeper  sense  of  the  complex  scheme 
of  Nature  than  the  knowledge  that,  in  a  nest,  each 
single  one  of  these  thousands  of  tiny  insects  is  known 
to  every  one  of  its  fellow-creatures.  Each  little  worker 
seems  but  a  moving  speck  lost  in  a  swarm  of  insect 
life,  but  it  is  a  speck  unlike  the  thousands  of  other 
specks  ;  it  has  its  own  distinct  characteristics,  its  own 
individuality  ;  it  distinguishes  separately  each  one  in 
the  countless  multitude  and  each  one  distinguishes  it. 

A  shepherd  can  distinguish  each  sheep  in  his  fold  ; 
man  can  see  differences  in  all  his  fellows ;  but  it 
seems  a  far  more  wonderful  thought  that  this  swarming, 
hustling  throng  of  insects  should  possess  the  faculty 
of  individual  recognition.  All  these  ants  must  differ  ; 
there  can  be  no  two  quite  alike.  The  thought  arises 
as  to  how  far  through  living  nature  may  this  difference 
extend.  At  times  we  may  look  into  the  skies  and  see 
birds  congregated  in  tremendous  flocks ;  we  may  peer 
into  the  ocean  on  vast  shoals  of  fishes;  we  may  survey 
a  desert  for  hundreds  of  square  miles  all  green  with 
swarming  locusts.     Do  these  all  differ,  though  to  us 


COMMUNICATING   AND   OTHER  ANTS     71 

all  alike  ?  If  analogy  is  any  guide,  then  surely  our 
reason  would  lead  us  to  suspect  that  as  man  differs 
from  his  millions  of  fellow-men,  as  every  sheep  is 
known  to  its  shepherd,  as  in  the  multitude  of  busy 
ants  all  the  members  are  unlike,  so  this  endless 
difference  may  extend  through  every  path  of  organic 
nature,  even  through  that  most  amazing  profusion  of 
fertility,  the  dense  locust  swarm.  How  wonderful 
is  Nature  to  mould  her  creatures  all  unlike  and  collect 
them  into  groups  of  great  resemblance.  That  none 
shall  be  identical  may  be  as  inexorable  a  law  of 
Nature  as  that  like  produces  like. 

It  is  only  the  smaller  workers  that  possess  the 
power  of  bringing  information  and  calling  out  the 
swarm.  The  soldiers  rarely  hunt  about  for  prey ; 
their  duty  is  to  remain  indoors  and  await  the  news 
brought  by  the  smaller  workers.  Their  great  strength 
is  their  most  valuable  asset.  To  the  community  they 
are  useful,  not  for  discovering  food,  but  for  fighting 
battles,  directing  the  swarm,  and  dragging  insects  to 
the  nest. 

On  two  occasions  I  found  a  soldier  hurrying  about 
outside  the  nest  and  gave  it  a  dead  insect.  Now  if 
this  had  been  an  ordinary  worker  it  would  have 
hastened  to  the  nest  with  the  news  and  the  awaiting 
swarm  would  have  poured  out  through  the  gate.  But 
the  soldier  could  not  undertake  that  duty  ;  it  remained 
for  ten  minutes  dragging  vainly  at  the  insect  and 
running  round  about  it,  but  never  attempted  to  call  out 
the  swarm.  The  second  time  the  dead  insect  was 
rather  bruised,  and  the  soldier  tore  off  a  fragment  and 
carried  it  to  the  nest.  Again  and  again  it  returned  for 
another  fragment,  but  always  singly.     Its  excited  state 


72         A  NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

and  the  presence  of  food  in  its  jaws  had  no  effect  on 
the  awaiting  throni^^  It  seemed  to  possess  no  power 
of  calHni^  out  the  swarm  or  of  L^iving  information  of 
its  valuable  discovery. 

But    the   division   of  labour  in   this    community  is 
brought  to  a  still  higher  degree  of  perfection,  for  not 
only  is  the  labour  distinctly  divided  between  the  larger 
and    smaller    workers,    but    also   different    tasks    are 
assio-ned  to  different  groups  of  the  smaller  workers.     I 
draw  this  conclusion  from  the  following  observation. 
When  a  nest  has  been  fully  excavated  and  the  duty 
of  the  whole  community  is  to  collect  food,  then  every 
ant  appears  to  render  aid  when  the  call  arrives.     But 
one  evening  I  discovered  a  nest  which  was  still  under- 
going excavation.     Certain  of  the  ants  were  carrying 
out  their  litde  loads,  while  others  were  running  about 
outside  the  nest.      I  gave  a  dead  grasshopper  to  one 
of  the  workers  and  expected  that,  on  arrival  of   the 
news  of  the  discovery,  the  work  of  excavation  would 
cease  and  all  the  ants  would  hasten  to  the  spot.     But 
this    was    not    the    case.     The    swarm    emerged    and 
attacked  the  grasshopper,  but  the  workers  engaged  in 
excavation  took  no  notice  of  this  rich  discovery,  but 
continued  their  monotonous  toil.    The  swarm  dragged 
the  grasshopper   to  the  nest,  but  the  insect  was  too 
large  to  enter  the  aperture  and  remained  fixed,  half  in 
and  half  outside  the  nest.      Round  about  the  gate  was 
this  seething  swarm  of  ravenous  workers,  all  tearing 
and  dragging  at  the  insect  in  their  excited  efforts  to 
draw  it  past  the  obstacle,  but  still  the  workers  engaged 
in   excavation   took  no   notice.     At   every  exit   each 
little    excavator    had    to    force    its   way    through    the 
greedy    throng    and    sometimes    had    even    to    climb 


COMMUNICATING   AND   OTHER  ANTS     73 

over  the  body  of  the  insect,  but  it  never  interfered 
in  the  efforts  of  the  swarm.  It  recognized  that  the 
labours  of  the  community  had  been  divided,  that  it 
was  its  office  to  engage  in  the  humble  duty  of  ex- 
cavation, while  to  others  alone  was  assigned  the 
more  adventurous  work  of  capture. 

In  the  defence  of  the  home  they  also  divide  their 
labour.  To  the  soldiers  is  the  chief  glory  of  the 
battle.  I  have  watched  nests  with  stalwart  and 
ferocious  soldiers  posted  at  their  gates.  They  stand 
guard  over  the  entrance,  ready  at  a  moment's  notice 
to  hurl  a  reckless  attack  on  an  invader.  In  this 
species  the  soldiers  are  very  pugnacious  and  some- 
times exert  an  autocratic  tyranny  over  the  smaller 
workers ;  for  I  have  seen  them,  in  the  exertion  of 
their  authority,  crush  and  mangle  in  their  powerful 
jaws  the  workers  of  their  own  nest  and  rend  them 
into  fragments. 

In  their  migrations,  likewise,  we  see  the  same 
principle  in  force,  each  one  to  its  own  duty.  The 
main  burden  of  toil  falls  on  the  smaller  workers.  It 
is  they  alone  that  transport  the  larvae,  and  they 
often  carry  their  companions  from  nest  to  nest.  The 
soldiers  carry  nothing.  They  are  not  humble  toilers, 
but  are  the  directors  of  the  transport.  They  are  the 
aristocracy  of  ant  life.  They  hurry  out  of  the  nest 
singly  and  at  intervals  with  a  throng  of  laden  ants 
following  in  their  rear  ;  and  as  each  powerful  soldier 
hastens  along  the  migrating  line,  it  looks  like  an 
officer  leading  and  directing  his  company  of  men. 
Nor  do  the  soldiers  return  again  to  the  old  nest. 
The  smaller  workers,  once  they  have  deposited  their 
larvae  in  the  new  nest,  hasten  back  for  a  fresh  burden. 


74         A  NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

but  ci  returnini^  soldier  is  never  seen.  It,  no  doubt, 
busies  itself  with  important  duties  within  the  new 
nest,  but  takes  no  further  part  in  the  migrating  line. 

And  as  sometimes  happens  in  human  society,  the 
directors  of  the  community,  the  oft-reviled  aristocracy, 
become  neglectful  of  their  great  duties  and  sink  into 
a  contemptible  idleness  ;  so  do  the  soldier  ants,  the 
aristocracy  of  this  insect  labour,  appear  sometimes 
to  neglect  their  duties,  and,  instead  of  taking  an 
active  part  in  the  direction  of  this  migrating  stream, 
resign  themselves  to  abject  laziness  and  permit  the 
busy  little  workers  to  carry  them  from  nest  to  nest 
in  their  jaws. 

I  must  now  pass  from  these  wonderful  Phidolc 
ants  to  consider  other  species.  I  could  never  tire 
of  studying  them,  not  in  confinement,  but  on  the 
mountain  sides,  in  the  fertile  fields  or  the  sheltered 
glens.  I  loved  to  watch  them  divide  their  labour, 
each  one  to  its  own  task,  and  to  test  and  retest  that 
remarkable  intercourse  by  which  they  communicate 
one  with  the  other. 

But  because  these  ants  communicate,  it  must  not  be 
presumed  that  all  ants  communicate.  From  the  study 
of  a  single  species  of  ants  the  presence  of  the  power 
of  communication  has  been  asserted  and  denied  for 
this  whole  tribe  of  insects.  The  fact  appears  to  be 
that  one  species  may  possess  the  power  and  another 
not  possess  it,  and  it  is  quite  unjustifiable  to  affirm  or 
deny  the  presence  or  absence  of  any  sense  from  the 
study  of  any  single  species.  For  do  we  not  here  find 
the  absence  and  presence  of  the  power  of  communi- 
cation amongst  the  different  workers  of  the  same 
species  ?     And    what   is  true  for   the  power  of  com- 


COMMUNICATING   AND   OTHER  ANTS     75 

munication  is  equally  true  for  any  other  faculty. 
Harvesters  have  an  acute  sense  of  smell ;  in  other 
ants  it  is  almost  absent.  M.  setipes  detects  by  sight 
the  slightest  movement,  harvesters  have  a  dim, 
limited  vision,  other  ants  are  totally  blind. 

By  communication  these  ants  live ;  it  is  the 
mainspring  of  their  existence.  Could  they  not  com- 
municate they  could  neither  capture  their  prey  nor 
overpower  it  and  drag  it  to  the  nest.  But  is  there 
any  real  intelligence  in  this  essential  act  of  life  ?  I 
could  never  see  that  there  was.  The  ants  were  im- 
pelled by  a  power  far  greater  than  their  own  feeble 
minds  ;  they  neither  knew  what  they  did  nor  did  they 
know  why  they  did  it. 

I  have  but  few  remarks  to  make  on  the  remaining 
species  of  ants  that  occur  in  this  valley.  A  common 
genus,  Cremastogaster,  which  frequents  the  trunks  of 
the  trees,  has  the  peculiar  habit  of  turning  up  its 
heart-shaped  abdomen  so  as  to  stand  out  at  right 
angles  to  the  rest  of  the  body.  When  the  ant  is 
running  about  excitedly,  the  pointed  and  projecting 
abdomen  gives  the  insect  a  somewhat  terrifying 
appearance,  and  suggests  that  it  is  prepared  to  sting 
savagely  on  the  slightest  provocation.  As  in  the 
case  of  the  Myrmecocystus,  I  first  considered  that  the 
peculiar  attitude  adopted  by  this  genus  possessed 
the  useful  function  of  suggesting  to  insectivorous 
enemies  that  it  was  a  ferocious  creature  and  that  they 
had  better  abstain  from  attack.  I  doubt,  however,  if 
this  explanation  is  correct,  for  I  have  observed  that 
another  species,  Camponotus  coiupressus,  which  does 
not  usually  adopt  this  attitude,  will,  when  descending 
a  tree-trunk  head  foremost,  allow  its  abdomen  to  fall 


76         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

downwards  over  its  back  under  the  influence  of  gravity 
until  its  position  exactly  resembles  that  of  a  Crcmasto- 
gastcr  ant.  A  large  abdomen,  under  such  insufficient 
muscular  control  as  to  have  its  position  affected  by  the 
stress  of  gravity  during  the  ascent  and  descent  of  the 
tree-trunk,  must  to  some  extent  diminish  the  stability 
of  the  insect.  And  I  suspect  that  a  Creinastogasier 
ant,  which  is  continually  moving  up  and  down  the 
trunks  of  the  trees,  has  found  it  more  advantageous 
to  its  stability  and  balance  to  maintain  its  abdomen 
permanently  in  the  position  that  gravity  would  fix  it 
during  the  descent  of  a  tree,  rather  than  drag  behind 
it  an  unwieldy  mass  ready  to  sway  about  in  every 
direction  that  might  always  serve  as  a  threat  to  its 
equilibrium.  The  adoption  of  this  attitude  might  be 
expected  to  produce  anatomical  changes  in  the  struc- 
ture of  the  ant.  This  seems  to  be  the  case,  for  the 
narrow  pedicle,  that  in  most  ants  connects  the  thorax 
to  the  middle  of  the  front  of  the  abdomen,  is  in  this 
genus  attached  not  to  the  middle  but  to  the  upper 
margin  of  the  abdomen.  An  attachment  of  this  nature 
permits  the  unusual  attitude  to  be  more  easily  adopted. 
The  migrations  of  ants  often  display  the  plasticity 
of  instinct  in  the  species  and  the  power  of  the  ants  to 
modify  their  behaviour  to  meet  unusual  conditions. 
One  small  and  agile  little  ant,  Acantholepis  fraiienfeldi, 
seemed  to  be  continually  in  a  state  of  migration  (see 
Plate,  p.  60).  After  every  shower  of  rain  a  stream  of 
workers  might  be  seen  hurrying  from  an  old  to  a  new 
nest,  all  heavily  laden  with  larvae,  I  suppose  that  the 
rain,  flooding  the  nest,  makes  it  uninhabitable  for  the 
ants,  and  they  are  forced  to  remove  to  drier  quarters. 
1  he  ants  often  do  not  migrate  to  any  great  distance ; 


COMMUNICATING   AND   OTHER   ANTS     77 

the  new  nest  may  be  established  six,  eight  or  ten  feet 
away.  They  do  not  necessarily  migrate  in  one  body  all 
at  one  time,  but  those  which  carry  the  larvae  to  the  new 
nest  may  continue  to  return  to  the  old  nest  again  and 
again  to  convey  another  burden. 

One  day  I  watched  them  migrating  in  a  long  file 
and  entering  the  new  nest  by  four  small  apertures. 
I  sealed  up  with  stones  these  apertures  in  order  to 
observe  what  the  ants  would  do  with  their  precious 
larvae.  After  a  short  period  of  great  excitement  and 
commotion,  the  workers  carrying  larvae  turned  away 
from  the  closed  doors,  retraced  their  steps  for  a  short 
distance  towards  the  old  nest,  and  then  branched  off 
to  one  side  in  the  direction  of  a  small  heap  of  withered 
grass.  Beneath  this  grass  they  deposited  their  larvae, 
in  order  presumably  that  they  might  not  become 
injured  by  exposure.  They  then  returned  to  help  in 
the  removal  of  the  obstruction.  Now  as  each  ant 
turned  away  from  the  barred  door  to  conceal  its  larvae, 
it  frequently  passed  and  appeared  to  communicate 
with  other  ants  bearing  larvae  to  the  new  nest.  Yet  it 
never  appeared  to  be  able  to  convey  the  information 
to  them  that  the  opening  of  the  nest  was  barred  and 
that  the  larvae  should  be  stored  beneath  the  heap  of 
grass.  Each  ant  had  to  proceed  right  up  to  the 
obstruction  and  investigate  for  itself  the  unusual  state 
of  affairs  before  it  could  deposit  its  burden  and  help  in 
the  task  of  demolition. 

On  another  occasion,  during  a  migration  of  the  same 
species,  I  killed  a  number  of  the  migrants  close  to  the 
entrance  of  the  nest  into  which  the  ants  were  carrying 
their  larvae.  This  filled  the  ants  with  intense  alarm  ; 
there  was  now  no  attempt  to  hide  the  pupae  until  the 


78         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

danger  was  removed.  Migration  at  once  ceased  and 
the  larvae  were  hurried  back  to  the  old  nest.  A  number 
of  ants  remained  about  the  aperture  searching  in  all 
directions  for  the  cause  of  the  calamity.  After  an 
hour  of  fruitless  search  they  must  have  concluded  that 
all  cause  for  alarm  had  disappeared,  for  the  ants  began 
to  emerge  with  their  larvce  from  the  old  nest  and  the 
migration  again  continued  in  a  steady  stream.  Thus 
can  the  migrants  modify  their  behaviour.  If  they 
meet  with  an  obstruction,  they  conceal  their  larvse  and 
break  down  the  opposing  barrier ;  if  they  imagine 
danger  is  at  hand,  they  cease  their  migration  and 
retire  to  the  deserted  nest. 

As  rain  stimulates  migration,  so  also  does  it  awaken 
the  sexual  forms  which,  on  emerging  from  the  nest, 
soon  seek  union.  This  takes  place  under  different 
conditions  in  different  species.  In  the  large  Myrme- 
cocysttis  setipes  union  sometimes  occurs  on  the  ground 
near  the  mouth  of  the  nest  shordy  after  the  males  and 
females  escape.  It  may  therefore  enjoy  no  nuptial 
flight.  This  is  not  so  with  the  harvesters,  for  the 
males  and  females  of  this  ant  fly  away  independently, 
and  the  probability  of  union  must  in  this  species  be 
more  remote,  as  it  will  depend  on  a  chance  meeting 
between  the  opposite  sexes  at  a  distance  from  the  nest. 
The  sexual  forms  of  other  ants  congregate  in  the  air 
in  a  regular  swarm.  The  males  and  females  of  one  of 
the  smaller  species  of  the  Myrmecince  collected  round 
me  one  morning  in  June  as  I  wandered  through  the 
fields.  They  moved  through  the  air  like  a  cloud  of 
insects,  and  persisted  in  alighting  on  my  head  and 
shoulders,  after  which  act  union  occurred. 

The  life  of  the  male  after  it  leaves  the  nest  must  be 


COMMUNICATING   AND   OTHER   ANTS     79 

extremely  short.  One  evening-  I  observed  that  a 
number  of  the  sexual  forms  of  the  larg^e  black  Indian 
ant,  Camponotus  compressus  (see  Plate,  p.  60),  were  flying 
about  the  lamps,  so  that  it  was  clear  that  a  nuptial  flight 
had  emerged.  The  following  morning  I  found  that 
the  ground  was  strewn  with  thousands  of  their  dead 
bodies,  all  of  which  seemed  to  be  males.  Such  is  the 
flickering  life  of  the  sexual  male  ;  just  a  few  hours  of 
sunlight  or  perhaps  a  single  night  ;  just  a  sufficient 
time  to  perform  the  sexual  function  for  which  sole 
duty  alone  it  lives. 

The  workers  bestow  much  care  and  attention  on 
the  sexual  members  of  the  community.  One  evening 
after  heavy  rain  the  males  and  females  of  the  species 
Ca?Hp07iotus  dolendiis  had  collected,  preparatory  to 
flight,  in  a  swarm  on  the  ground  close  to  the  gate  of 
the  nest.  The  workers,  chiefly  those  of  the  large, 
strong  soldier  type,  formed  a  ring  of  defence  around 
them  like  a  bodyguard  of  infantry  drawn  up  in  battle- 
order  to  repel  an  attack.  I  disturbed  one  of  the 
workers,  and  soon  the  whole  community  was  thrown 
into  alarm.  From  the  intensity  of  their  excitement  it 
was  clear  that  the  soldiers  recognized  the  sanctity  of 
their  charge.  The  males  and  females,  being  the 
peaceful  and  inoffensive  members  of  the  family,  hurried 
away  into  the  security  of  the  nest ;  but  the  more 
stalwart  workers,  in  their  position  as  protectors, 
scattered  savagely  in  all  directions  to  seek  out  and 
come  to  battle  with  the  foe. 

After  this  alarm  had  passed,  the  sexual  forms  again 
emerged  and  wandered  away  into  a  tuft  of  grass  a 
few  feet  from  the  nest.  As  nightfall  approached,  the 
workers  became  restless.      It  was  the  hour  when  the 


80         A  NATURALIST   IN   HIINIALAYA 

ants  OLiijjht  to  have  been  retiring  to  rest,  yet  all  the 
winged  forms  on  which  they  bestow  so  much  attention 
lay  scattered  about  in  the  grass.  It  was  obvious  that 
the  sexual  forms  had  no  intention  of  returniuLi'  home 
before  dark.  And  this  is  in  itself  interesting,  for  the 
workers  in  their  daily  labour  retire  each  evening  to 
the  nest ;  but  the  males  and  females,  not  taking  part 
in  the  routine  of  work,  felt  no  instinctive  impulse 
urging  them  to  retire.  When  darkness  fell  they  were 
helpless.  They  had  never  been  in  the  habit  of  return- 
ing to  the  nest  before  dark  ;  they  were  therefore  quite 
unable  to  do  so  now,  and  were  prepared  to  remain 
outside  for  the  night. 

But  their  protectors  would  have  none  of  this. 
Though  in  the  sexual  forms  instinct  failed,  the  workers 
would  meet  the  needs  of  the  case.  They  were  deter- 
mined not  to  leave  their  precious  care  exposed,  and 
they  soon  solved  the  problem.  They  formed  a  line 
between  the  tuft  of  grass  and  the  nest ;  workers 
hurried  out ;  each  seized  a  prospective  parent  in  its 
mandibles,  clutching  it  by  the  back  of  the  neck,  and 
carried  it  off  to  the  nest.  It  was  the  males  alone  that 
required  transport.  For  the  females  example  was 
enough  ;  they  seemed  to  possess  a  stronger  instinct  of 
self-protection,  for  they  found  their  own  way  back  to 
the  nest.  The  males  received  very  bad  usage  during 
the  process,  yet  they  calmly  resigned  themselves  to  their 
fate.  The  workers  either  dragged  them  roughly  by 
the  neck  over  the  stones,  or  pushed  them  forward  with 
such  vehemence  against  sticks  and  slates  and  tufts  of 
grass  that  it  seemed  as  though  their  heads  would  be 
severed  from  their  bodies.  But  they  made  no  resist- 
ance.    They   folded   their   wings  against   their   sides, 


COMMUNICATING   AND   OTHER   ANTS     81 

curled  up  their  slender  legs,  passively  surrendered 
their  lives  to  the  care  of  their  sterile  sisters,  and  sub- 
mitted to  the  hardships  of  the  journey  until  they  were 
lodged  safely  in  the  nest.  Thus  do  the  workers  guard 
and  cherish  the  sexual  forms  on  whom  the  future  life 
of  the  race  depends. 

How  variable  are  the  habits  and  instincts  of  ants, 
even  among  members  of  the  same  nest.  I  have 
endeavoured  to  tell  something  of  them  as  seen  in  the 
common  species  of  this  valley.  But  it  matters  not 
how  their  labour  varies,  we  always  see  the  same 
underlying  principle  of  the  subordination  of  each  one 
to  the  well-being  of  all.  The  individual  is  nothing  ; 
the  community  is  supreme.  The  single  ant  is  lost 
when  separated  from  the  formicary.  So  organized  is 
the  social  structure,  so  dependent  is  each  ant  on  its 
,  fellows,  that  when  it  finds  itself  alone  it  is  helpless. 
It  cannot  even  live  unless  it  again  joins  the  throng. 
Its  brain,  though  infinitely  complex,  exists  not  for  the 
single  ant,  but  as  an  integral  part  of  the  whole  com- 
munal mind.  Each  individual  is  as  a  single  cell  of 
which  the  commune  is  the  developed  being ;  each 
brain  is  a  single  atom  submerged  in  the  restless  spirit 
of  the  swarm. 


CHAPTER   VI 

GEOMETRICAL    SPIDERS 

Home  of  spider — Species  under  discussion — Constitution  of  colonies — 
Construction  of  snare — Emission  and  structure  of  the  first  line — 
Mechanism  in  construction  of  radii — Mechanism  in  hub — Mechanism 
in  temporary  spiral — Mechanism  in  viscid  spiral. 

The  most  ancient  beds  of  the  earth's  crtist  involved 
in  the  upheaval  of  the  Himalaya  mountains  are  thick 
masses  of  primary  slates  into  which  the  molten  granite 
has  intruded.  They  rise  in  Hazara  into  rounded  hills 
with  smooth  summits  and  sides  crumbling  to  decay. 
Little  verdure  clothes  them.  A  few  pines  may  cluster 
on  their  peaks,  or  thorny  bushes  collect  in  their  more 
sheltered  glens.  Their  flanks  are  hidden  in  a  coarse 
mountain  grass,  brown  and  parched  in  the  dry  sultry 
months  of  summer,  but  changing  into  a  pleasant  green 
after  every  fall  of  rain.  The  moisture  that  freshens 
their  surface  likewise  hews  them  to  their  present 
shapes.  Streams  eat  into  their  fissile  sides  and  erode 
valleys  between  their  rounded  backs.  Softer  and 
harder  strata  meet  the  waters  as  they  cut  deeper  into 
the  rock,  and  each  changes  the  nature  of  their  flow. 
As  the  consistency  of  each  bed  alters  or  obstructs  it, 
the  stream  stagnates  into  a  sluggish  pool  or  splashes 
onward  in  rivulets  and  cascades. 

These  streams  are  the  home  of  the  geometrical 
spiders.  Over  the  running  water,  more  often  over  the 
transparent  pools,  these  skilful  architects  extend  their 

82 


GEOMETRICAL   SPIDERS  83 

fragile  snares.  Suspended  on  either  side  from  a  tuft 
of  grass,  a  thorny  bush  or  a  bare  slab  of  shale,  the 
fine  silken  webs  span  tight  across  the  stream.  The 
site  is  a  perfect  one  for  the  Epeira,  for  here  flies  and 
other  tiny  insects  abound  which,  as  they  hover  over 
the  water,  fall  entangled  in  the  well-laid  snares. 

Two  species  of  the  Epeiridcs  haunt  these  streams. 
They  belong  to  distinct  genera  and  differ  greatly  in 
appearance.     The  more  common  of  the  two  is  Araneus 
nauticus,  a  brown  globular  little  spider  from  a  quarter 
to  half  an  inch  in  lengrth.      Its  narrow  flat  head  sunk 
low  between  its  limbs  is  scarcely  visible.      But  on  the 
upper  surface  can  be  seen  the  six  black  shining  eyes, 
and  projecting   in   front  are  a  pair  of  sharp-pointed 
ponderous  jaws.     Behind  the  head  is  the  inconspicuous 
thorax  clothed  in  thick  greyish  hairs,  with  the  limbs, 
banded  in  black  and  yellow,  spreading  out  on  either 
side.     Overhanging  the  thorax  and  forming  the  larger 
portion    of  the    spider,   is    the    massive    heart-shaped 
abdomen.     A  thin  coat  of  hair  covers  the  abdomen, 
while   its   upper  surface   is   marked   with   a  yellowish 
cross.     The  other  spider   is  a  species  of  the   Tetra- 
gnatka,  not  so  common  as  the  Araneus,  but  possessed 
of  very   similar  habits.      It  is  strikingly   different   in 
appearance,    with    a    narrow    elongated    body,   and    a 
small  head   supporting   its  massive  jaws.      A  line  of 
minute  teeth  strengthen  the  jaws  on  the  inner  side, 
while  their  distal  ends  are  armed  with  a  long  pointed 
fang.     Its  legs  are  unusually  long  and  slender,  so  that 
the  spider  seems  ungainly  in  its  motions.     It  has  the 
peculiar   habit  of  extending   its  legs  backwards  and 
forwards,  pressing  them  close  together  so  as  to  bring 
them  in  line  with  its  body. 


84         A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

Thou''h  foreiirn  to  the  usual  habits  of  spiders,  these 
two  species  Hve  together   in   perfect  harmony.      Most 
spiders  prefer  a  sohtary  existence,  desiring  no   com- 
panions, devouring  every  intruder  or  driving  it  savagely 
away.      Yet   these  spiders  often   follow   a  gregarious 
life,  interweaving  their  snares  into  one  wide  common 
sheet.      It  is  not  unusual  to  fmd  half  a  dozen  of  these 
snares   all    connected    by    their    foundation-lines,    and 
even  those  of  the  two  species  sometimes  intermingle. 
I    once  found   a  collection    of  twenty-one  snares   all 
communicating  one  with  the  other,  and  both  Araitetis 
and  Tetragnatha  were  represented  in  the  colony,  and 
they  all  lived  together  in  complete  harmony.     Spiders 
in  other  countries  sometimes  unite  into  similar  com- 
munes,     Darwin   tells  us    that    in    South    America  a 
species  of  Epeira  congregates  in  small  colonies  so  as 
to  encompass  large  bushes  with  their  united  nets.      He 
remarks  on  the  singular  fact  that  this  gregarious  habit 
should  exist  in  such  bloodthirsty  and  solitary  creatures. 
Peace  exists  in  these  colonies  over  the  streams.     The 
spider    from    one    snare    seldom    invades    that    of    its 
neighbour  ;  should  it  by  mistake  cross  the  frontier,  it 
is  immediately  made  aware  of  its  error  and  ordered  to 
be  off.    For  the  spider  in  the  invaded  snare  throws  the 
whole  structure  into  a  state  of  rapid  vibration,  and  the 
intruder,  feeling  this,  instantly  turns  about  and  returns 
to  its  own  territory. 

From  year  to  year  the  numbers  of  these  spiders 
vary.  A  dry  summer  results  in  a  scarcity  of  insects, 
and  this  is  a  direct  cause  of  the  rarity  of  the  spiders. 
A  wet  season  supplies  an  abundance  of  snares.  And 
not  only  are  the  spiders  affected  through  the  medium 
of  the  insects,  but  so  also  are  the  insects  that  prey  on 


GEOMETRICAL   SPIDERS  85 

insects.  In  a  dry  season  there  is  a  marked  diminution 
in  the  drasfon-flies  and  the  robber-flies  that  hunt 
insects  on  the  wing.  Similarly  will  the  insectivorous 
birds  be  reduced  in  numbers,  and  each  species  will 
affect  each  other  species  in  the  complex  web  of  life. 

The  mode  of  construction  of  the  snare  is  similar  in 
these  two  species  of  Epeira ;  yet  it  is  obvious  that 
Aranetis  has  a  decided  preference  for  suspending  its 
web  in  the  vertical  and  Tetragnatha  in  the  horizontal 
plane.  This  wonderful  architecture  has  often  been 
described,  yet  I  here  take  the  liberty  of  again  display- 
ing the  method  of  work  in  order  that  the  subsequent 
experiments  that  I  made  on  the  snare  may  be  found 
the  more  intelligible. 

I  isolate  an  Araneus  on  the  tip  of  a  blade  of  grass 
standing  in  a  shallow  pool.  The  spider  is  cut  adrift 
from  land ;  it  is  marooned  and  cannot  escape.  I  sit 
down  to  see  how  it  will  act.  The  hour  of  work  is  at 
hand,  so  the  spider  soon  sets  about  the  construction  of 
a  snare.  A  series  of  successive  stages  now  follows, 
each  stage  a  definite  step  in  the  architecture,  a 
preparation  for  the  succeeding  stage.  The  first 
essential  are  some  foundation-lines  to  serve  as  a 
framework  for  the  snare.  The  spider  begins.  It 
climbs  to  the  tip  of  the  blade  of  grass ;  it  elevates  its 
abdomen  and  from  its  spinnerets  emits  a  silken 
filament  to  the  wind.  The  light  filament  is  wafted  to 
the  shore,  becomes  entangled  in  another  blade  of 
grass,  and  the  first  foundation-line  is  in  place.  Back- 
wards and  forwards  runs  the  spider  along  its  line, 
adding  each  time  a  new  filament,  doubling,  trebling, 
quadrupling  the  line  until  it  is  strong  and  sound. 
The  first  foundation-line  is  secure.     For  the  second 


86         A   NATURALIST   IN    HIMALAYA 

foundation-line  the  spider  adopts  a  different  procedure. 
It  takes  its  stand  about  midway  on  the  first  Hne  and 
suddenly  drops  down  suspended  on  a  filament  of  silk. 
Perhaps  it  finds  an  attachment.  If  not,  it  climbs  up 
again  and  drops  down  from  another  point.  At  length 
it  meets  a  blade  of  grass  and  anchors  its  second  line. 
It  has  now  two  lines  with  three  attachments  to  stalks 
of  grass,  one  at  each  end  of  the  first  line  and  one  at 
the  lower  end  of  the  second  line.  By  joining  these 
points  together  with  a  filament  of  silk  a  triangle  is 
formed  of  three  foundation-lines,  the  simplest  form  of 
framework  to  support  a  geometrical  snare.  The 
spider  reinforces  these  lines  with  additional  filaments 
until  it  is  satisfied  with  the  strength  of  the  scaffold. 
This  is  the  first  and  elemental  stage  ;  the  construction 
of  the  foundation-lines. 

I  now  come  to  the  second  step  in  the  architecture. 
A  triangular  framework  is  in  position  ;  or,  if  suitable 
connections  can  be  found,  a  trapezoid  figure  is  more  to 
the  spider's  choice.  Whatever  its  shape,  the  spider 
next  proceeds  to  construct  the  radii.  These  are  the 
spokes  of  a  wheel  that  diverge  from  a  common  centre 
to  end  at  the  foundation-lines.  The  spider  constructs 
them  with  little  trouble.  It  first  runs  a  line  from  side 
to  side  across  the  framework.  Then,  selecting  a  point 
on  that  line  which  will  be  the  future  centre  of  the 
snare,  it  carries  a  number  of  lines  from  that  central 
point  to  the  circumference  of  the  snare.  In  this  way 
it  completes  a  series  of  radii,  each  equidistant  from  its 
adjoining  radius.  Each  radius  is  in  accurate  position  ; 
all  diverge  equally  from  the  common  point.  The 
second  stage  is  mathematically  complete. 

Now  comes  the  third  stage,  the  construction  of  a 


GEOMETRICAL   SPIDERS  87 

hub.  The  snare  in  its  present  state  resembles  a 
wheel.  It  has  a  centre,  radiating  spokes  and  a  rim 
formed  of  its  foundation-lines.  The  spokes  need  some 
strengthening  at  the  point  where  they  leave  the 
centre  ;  the  wheel  requires  a  hub.  This  the  spider 
proceeds  to  make.  It  winds  five  turns  of  a  slender 
filament  around  and  close  to  the  central  point  attach- 
ing the  filament  to  every  spoke.  A  hub  is  thus  added 
to  the  wheel ;  the  spokes  are  bound  together  at  their 
inner  ends  and  the  third  stage  is  complete. 

The  fourth  step  in  the  work  is  the  formation  of 
a  temporary  spiral.  This  adds  a  further  strength  to 
the  snare,  holding  the  radii  still  more  firmly  in  place. 
The  spider  takes  four  turns  round  the  hub,  stepping 
from  radius  to  radius  and  attaching  the  filament  every 
time  it  passes  a  spoke.  A  spiral  of  four  turns,  like  the 
hair-spring  of  a  watch,  is  thus  wound  about  the  centre. 
All  the  turns  are  parallel,  all  accurately  placed.  The 
work  is  perfect  and  precise.  This  is  the  fourth  stage 
in  the  architecture,  the  construction  of  the  temporary 
spiral. 

The  spider  now  reaches  the  fifth  and  most  important 
step  in  its  work,  the  formation  of  the  viscid  spiral.  It 
proceeds  to  the  outer  margin  of  its  snare  close  to 
where  a  radius  joins  a  foundation-line.  It  now 
commences  to  wind  another  and  much  longer  spiral 
round  and  round  the  snare,  commencing  at  the 
circumference,  working  towards  the  centre  and  attach- 
ing the  spiral  at  every  spoke.  To  pass  from  radius  to 
radius  it  uses  the  temporary  spiral  as  a  bridge.  Now 
this  viscid  spiral  is  the  vital  element  in  the  snare. 
It  is  continuous  in  closely  parallel  lines  from  the 
circumference  to  the  very  centre,     It  is  covered  with 


88 


A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 


a  highly  viscid  lluid,  while  all  the  other  lines,  the 
radii,  the  hub,  the  temporary  spiral  are  non-adherent 
to  the  touch.  It  is  that  part  of  the  fabric  that  has  the 
power  of  capture.  The  formation  of  the  viscid  spiral 
is  a  laborious  task  ;  it  occupies  the  spider  more  time 
than  all  the  rest  of  the  snare.  It  is  a  fine  and  subtle 
filament,  often  continuous  from  end  to  end.  Every 
line  is  parallel,  and  the  whole  is  a  wonderful  work  of 


Fig.  2. — Diagram  of  the  parts  of  a  Geometrical  Snare. 


(a)  Centre. 

(fi)   Hub. 

((■)   Temporary  spiral. 


((f)  Radius. 

(e)    Viscid  spiral. 

{/)  Foundation  line. 


mathematical  beauty  and  perfection.  The  spider  at 
length  completes  its  viscid  spiral.  It  anchors  the  end 
close  to  the  centre  and  the  snare  is  finished. 

Such  is  the  construction  of  the  geometrical  snare,  a 
work  of  the  most  marvellous  texture.  There  are  five 
successive  stages  in  its  architecture  (see  Fig.  2). 

1.  The  foundation-lines. 

2.  The  radii. 

3.  The  hub, 


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GEOMETRICAL   SPIDERS  89 

4.  The  temporary  spiral. 

5.  The  viscid  spiral. 

I  have  some  remarks  to  make  on  each  step  in  this 
work.  It  is  a  fabric  worthy  of  our  note.  The 
strength  of  its  transparent  filaments,  the  geometrical 
accuracy  of  its  lines,  the  subtlety  of  its  device  and 
the  unerring  certainty  of  its  power  cannot  but  excite 
our  wonder  and  admiration.  To  produce  such  a 
consummate  work  needs  the  skill  of  a  master-hand 
moved  by  a  geometrical  sway.  I  will  endeavour  to 
disclose  the  nature  of  this  handiwork,  to  show  how  all 
this  accuracy  is  attained.  I  hope  to  demonstrate  how 
the  spider  works  ;  how  it  measures  its  equal  angles  ; 
draws  its  perfect  parallels ;  secures  its  equidistant 
lines  ;  how  it  achieves  all  this  mathematical  accuracy 
which,  woven  into  its  architecture,  makes  for  the 
beauty,  the  perfection  and  the  certainty  of  its 
snare. 

First  with  respect  to  the  construction  of  the  founda- 
tion-lines, the  fact  of  most  interest  is  the  ingenious 
manner  in  which  the  spider  pays  out  its  filament  to  the 
wind.  The  spider  does  not  act  altogether  haphazard, 
allowing  the  filament  to  trail  away  from  the  spinnerets 
in  search  of  a  chance  attachment.  It  shows  some 
method  even  in  this  simple  act.  It  supports  the 
thread  with  the  claws  of  its  second  tarsus  and  tests  its 
every  quiver  and  motion.  With  the  filament  curved 
over  the  tip  of  its  tarsus,  it  is  really  fishing  for  an 
attachment,  using  the  most  delicate  of  lines  and  the 
most  sensitive  of  fingers.  But  the  filament  itself  is 
more  worthy  of  notice.  It  is  specially  adapted  to  its 
peculiar  purpose.  Not  only  is  it  light  and  slender,  fit 
to  be  supported  on  a  gentle  breeze,  but  the  spider  ha^ 


90         A  NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

in  addition  giv^en  it  a  special  construction  by  which  its 
buoyancy  is  still  more  improved. 

In  the  Arancus  it  is  difficult  to  detect  this  special 
peculiarity  of  the  first  line.  Little  more  can  be  seen 
than  the  silken  thread  extending  outward  from  the 
spinnerets.  But  there  is  a  large  and  handsome  genus 
of  the  geometrical  spider  known  as  Argyope,  about  an 
inch  in  length,  in  which  more  detail  can  be  seen.  If 
we  have  the  chance  to  watch  an  Argyope  in  the  act  of 
emitting  the  first  filament  of  its  snare,  we  will  see  that 
the  tip  of  the  line  that  it  gives  to  the  wind  is  not 
a  single  filament  but  a  complex  structure.  It  is 
divided  into  a  sheaf  of  the  very  finest  fibrils,  each 
inconceivably  light  and  delicate.  These  float  freely  in 
the  air  and  serve  to  support  the  more  compact  and 
single  thread  that  follows  them  from  the  spinnerets. 
Thus  the  first  filament  of  the  snare  is  a  highly 
specialized  thread,  a  long  single  line  ending  in  a  free 
cluster  of  the  finest,  almost  invisible  fibrils  ;  a  structure 
beautifully  adapted  to  sail  on  the  wings  of  the  faintest 
breeze.  Even  the  emission  of  the  first  line  is  worthy 
of  our  note.  It  illustrates  the  ingenuity  of  the  spider's 
methods  by  employing  the  wind  to  support  its  lines, 
and  the  exquisite  adaptability  of  its  filaments  to  the 
varied  stages  of  its  work. 

I  come  now  to  the  method  by  which  the  spider 
constructs  its  radii  ;  a  mode  of  workmanship  that  has 
always  filled  me  with  wonder  at  the  geometrical 
powers  of  this  simple  creature.  It  is  clear  from  the 
beginning  that  the  radii  are  laid  down  in  no  definite 
order,  but  in  a  haphazard  manner.  Nevertheless  they 
are  all  equidistant ;  all  diverge  from  the  common 
centre  with  the  same  perfect  synimetry  as  the  spokes 


GEOMETRICAL   SPIDERS  91 

diverge  from  the  hub  of  a  wheel.  We  ask  ourselves, 
how  is  this  symmetry  attained  ?  By  what  mechanism 
does  the  spider  measure  with  such  accuracy  the  same 
distance  between  each  pair  of  radii  ?  Let  us  watch 
the  spider  at  work.  It  has  completed  the  foundation- 
lines,  and  is  now  throwing  out  its  radii.  Backwards 
and  forwards  from  the  centre  to  the  circumference  we 
see  it  hasten.  Out  along  one  spoke,  back  along 
another  spoke,  and  on  each  return  journey  a  new 
radius  is  secure.  For  a  moment  it  halts  at  the  centre. 
Something  engages  its  attention  here.  It  busies  itself 
about  the  hub.  It  rotates  from  side  to  side.  It 
is  examining  the  radii  all  round  the  snare,  satisfying 
itself  that  in  one  part  they  are  complete,  that  in 
another  part  they  have  not  yet  been  spun.  We  watch 
with  care  this  examination  of  the  radii.  We  see  that 
the  spider  with  the  tips  of  its  fore  legs  is  feeling 
and  testing  the  radii  just  at  the  point  where  they  leave 
the  hub.  We  see  a  pair  of  legs  expand  like  a 
mathematical  dividers  ;  the  tip  of  one  leg  rests  on  one 
radius,  the  tip  of  the  other  leg  on  the  adjoining  radius  ; 
and  it  is  clear  that  the  spicier  is  measuring  the  inter- 
radial  distance  by  using  its  legs  as  a  pair  of  dividers 
while  it  remains  seated  at  the  hub.  The  limbs  are 
kept  at  an  even  distance  and  the  spider  stretches 
forward  to  feel  all  round  the  snare.  Should  it  feel 
a  radius  with  the  tip  of  each  limb,  then  it  knows  that 
the  radii  are  complete  in  that  segment  and  are  at  the 
correct  interval.  It  then  turns  to  another  part  of 
the  snare  and  again  feels  for  the  radii.  It  has  now  to 
expand  its  legs  more  widely  to  feel  two  adjoining 
radii,  and  it  therefore  knows  that  here  the  radii  are 
incomplete,     Legs  expanded  the  normal  width  mean 


92         A  NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

radii  accurately  placed  ;  legs  too  widely  expanded 
mean  that  a  radius  or  more  is  absent.  Thus  the  first 
step  in  the  adjustment  of  the  radii  takes  place  at 
the  centre  of  the  snare.  It  is  here  that  the  spider 
learns  in  what  part  of  the  snare  the  radii  are  complete, 
in  what  parts  more  are  to  be  laid  down.  It  is  by  this 
mechanism  that  the  spider  rests  finally  satisfied  that 
every  radius  is  in  place. 

So  much  for  the  process  by  which  the  spider  locates 
those  parts  of  the  snare  not  yet  supplied  with  radii. 
I  pass  now  to  a  second  mechanism,  that  by  which 
the  spider  measures  the  correct  distance  between  the 
radii.  This  takes  place  not  at  the  centre  but  at 
the  circumference  of  the  snare.  It  follows  in  this  way. 
The  spider  at  the  centre  has  discovered  an  interval 
not  yet  supplied  with  a  radius.  Its  legs,  acting 
as  a  pair  of  dividers,  have  expanded  two  radial-widths. 
It  therefore  knows  that  a  spoke  is  here  absent  and 
it  must  needs  supply  it.  Out  along  the  nearest  radius 
it  hastens,  paying  out  its  filament  of  silk.  It  reaches 
the  circumference  where  the  radius  joins  the  frame. 
Now  occurs  the  interesting  part  of  the  mechanism. 
The  spider  takes  four  paces  along  the  foundation-line, 
then  halts,  draws  tight  its  filament,  secures  it  to 
the  frame,  and  a  new  radius  is  in  place.  It  is  the 
four  paces  along  the  foundation-line  that  makes  the 
measurement  exact.  In  this  the  spider  never  errs. 
Every  radius  is  secured  to  the  frame  four  paces  from 
an  adjoining  radius,  thus  all  the  radii  are  equidistant 
and  perfect  symmetry  is  attained. 

It  may  seem  degrading  to  the  exquisite  workman- 
ship of  the  spider  to  reduce  its  methods  to  mathe- 
matical terms,     To  my  mind  the  work  appears  iriore 


GEOMETRICAL   SPIDERS  93 

wonderful  by  knowing  something  of  the  manner  of 
that  work.  The  spider  is  not  degraded  because  at  the 
centre  it  can  measure  equal  angles,  at  the  circum- 
ference equal  arcs.  Would  not  man  act  similarly 
under  like  conditions  ?  Would  it  not  be  a  simple 
method  of  drawing  equidistant  radii  from  the  centre  of 
a  circle  to  take  equidistant  points  upon  the  circum- 
ference and  then  join  them  to  the  centre  ?  Would 
it  not  be  a  simple  method  to  measure  the  angles  at 
the  centre  to  see  that  no  radius  had  been  left  out  ? 
The  spicier  has  adopted  human  methods  ;  it  works 
on  geometrical  lines.  Its  limbs  are  its  dividers  and 
its  measuring  rule.  By  their  aid  the  snare  assumes 
those  accurate  proportions  that  we  never  cease  to 
admire.  Man  can  do  but  little  better  were  he  faced 
with  the  construction  of  a  similar  snare.  Each  would 
work  on  similar  principles,  the  one  knowingly,  the 
other  instinctively.  The  spider,  like  man,  is  a 
geometer.  Assuredly  by  being  so  it  is  not  degraded. 
Rather  must  we  not  wonder  at  similar  methods 
existino-  in  the   highest  and   the    humblest    creatures 

o  o 

so  far  distant  in  the  tree  of  life. 

Before  leaving  the  radii  I  must  mention  a  little 
detail  with  regard  to  their  structure,  since  it  is  a  special 
adjustment  designed  to  give  them  additional  strength. 
Each  radius  is  so  constructed  as  to  consist  of  a  double 
line.  The  method  of  duplication  takes  place  in  this 
way.  The  spider  during  its  examination  at  the  hub 
discovers  an  interval  where  no  radius  has  yet  been 
laid  down.  It  immediately  hurries  out  along  one  of 
the  radii  that  bounds  this  interval  and  of  course 
pays  out  its  filament  of  silk  behind  it.  It  reaches  the 
circumference,  takes  its  four  paces  along  the  founda- 


94         A   NATURALIST    IN   HIMALAYA 

tion-line,  halts  and  anchors  its  filament.  In  this  way 
a  radius  of  one  strand  is  secured.  But  this  is  not 
sufficient  for  the  spider.  The  line  must  be  of  double 
strength.  The  spider  sets  about  it  in  this  way. 
It  climbs  back  again  to  the  centre  of  the  snare,  but 
this  time  it  makes  its  journey  along  the  new  radius 
that  it  has  just  laid  down.  It  pays  out  its  filament 
of  silk  behind  it.  It  reaches  the  centre,  draws  tight, 
anchors  and  secures  its  line.  In  this  way  the  radius 
is  duplicated,  and  this  gives  additional  strength  to  the 
essential  framework  of  the  snare. 

I  pass  to  the  next  stage  of  the  architecture.  The 
radii  are  complete.  In  the  snare  I  have  just  examined 
they  are  twenty-four  in  number.  The  spider  now 
commences  the  next  feature  of  its  work.  It  winds 
five  turns  of  a  slender  filament  around  and  close  to 
the  centre,  anchoring  it  at  every  spoke.  Thus  it  con- 
structs its  hub.  It  does  not  always  complete  its  radii 
before  commencing  the  hub.  It  may  lay  down  a 
few  radii,  then  take  a  turn  on  the  hub,  then  again 
resume  the  radii.  No  doubt  the  hub  helps  to  secure 
the  radii.  But  its  construction  has  a  greater  value  ; 
for,  as  the  spider  circles  five  times  round  the  centre 
testing  each  radius  in  succession  at  every  circle,  it 
satisfies  itself  repeatedly  that  all  its  radii  are  in  place. 
It  examines  with  its  dividers  the  position  of  each  pair 
of  radii,  and  if  they  are  not  in  accurate  position  it 
proceeds  to  remedy  the  defect. 

An  experiment  will  make  this  clear.  A  snare 
is  under  construction.  All  the  radii  are  in  place. 
The  spider  is  engaged  in  the  winding  of  its  hub. 
I  divide  one  radius.  The  spider  circles  round  and 
reaches    the   gap    made    by     the    lost    radius.      It    is 


GEOMETRICAL   SPIDERS  95 

obvious  that  it  is  feeling  with  its  leg  for  the  radius, 
but  finds  nothing  in  its  place.  !t  recognizes  the  loss, 
ceases  its  work  on  the  hub,  runs  out  a  new  radius  and 
again  resumes  the  spinning  of  the  hub.  The  experi- 
ment is  repeated  and  more  radii  are  divided.  But  the 
spider  replaces  the  lost  lines  so  long  as  it  is  engaged 
on  the  hub.  It  is  thus  clear  that  the  time  of  hub- 
formation  is  the  time  for  testing  a  previous  stage 
in  the  construction ;  the  time  to  examine  if  every 
radius  is  secure. 

This  process  of  testing  the  radii  is  one  of  great 
importance,  for  the  absence  of  a  radius  means  a  loss  of 
symmetry  in  the  web.  Thus  the  spider  is  most  dili- 
gent in  this  stage  of  its  duty.  I  will  mention  an  experi- 
ment to  indicate  its  persistence  in  this  important  task. 

A  snare  of  twenty-four  radii  was  being  reconstructed. 
The  old  snare  had  been  battered  to  fraofments  ;  and 
the  spider,  having  cleared  the  remnants,  was  building 
a  new  structure  in  its  place.  It  was  laying  out  its 
radii.  Now  as  fast  as  the  spider  secured  a  radius, 
I  severed  one  that  it  had  previously  laid  down. 
As  the  spider  worked  on  one  side,  I  divided  on  the 
other  side.  My  destruction  kept  pace  with  its  con- 
struction of  the  radii.  The  spider  continually  found 
the  gap  that  I  had  made,  a  vacant  interval  where 
there  should  have  been  a  radius.  But  it  was  equal 
to  the  emergency.  It  ran  out  a  new  radius.  As  fast 
as  the  spider  discovered  the  injury  it  remedied  the 
defect.  In  all  I  divided  a  radius  twenty-five  times 
and  the  spider  constructed  new  ones  in  their  place. 
Sometimes  the  same  radius  was  severed  three  or  four 
times,  and  each  time  the  structure  was  replaced. 
After  the  twenty-five  divisions  the  spider  refused  to 


96         A  NATURAIJST   IN   HIMALAYA 

construct  any  more  radii.  The  snare  had  eighteen  in 
position,  and  the  spider,  satisfied  with  this,  passed 
on  to  the  next  stage  of  its  work.  Such  is  the 
persistence  of  the  spider  in  the  appHcation  of  its  radii. 
In  this  snare  that  should  have  contained  twenty-four 
radii,  the  spider  constructed  eighteen  together  with 
the  twenty-five  that  I  had  severed.  In  all  it  laid  down 
forty-three  instead  of  the  normal  twenty-four.  From 
this  experiment  we  rest  satisfied  as  to  the  mechanism 
by  which  the  spider  tests  its  radii,  and  we  see  the 
clear  determination  of  the  litde  architect  to  make 
every  radius  secure. 

Such  are  the  geometrical  means  by  which  the  spider 
constructs  its  radii.  I  pass  now  to  consider  if  similar 
methods  are  employed  in  the  other  features  of  its 
work.  The  radii  and  hub  are  complete  and  the  next 
step  in  the  architecture  is  the  construction  of  the 
temporary  spiral.  This  binds  the  radii  together.  It 
is  the  scaffolding  of  the  snare. 

We  again  watch  the  workmanship.  We  again 
discover  the  method  of  measurement ;  the  mathemati- 
cal instinct  on  which  the  accuracy  of  the  work  depends. 
Round  goes  the  spider  from  radius  to  radius  construct- 
ing the  first  turn  of  its  temporary  spiral.  Watch  it 
carefully  at  one  radius.  Its  fore  limb  is  applied  to  the 
hub  ;  its  spinnerets  touch  the  radius  and  a  definite 
length  is  measured  off  along  the  radius  ;  the  length 
being  the  distance  from  the  tip  of  the  fore  leg  to  the 
spinnerets.  Where  the  spinnerets  meet  the  radius  a 
line  is  secured.  The  spider  passes  on  to  the  next 
radius.  The  same  process  occurs.  The  same  length 
is  measured  off  on  this  radius.  The  fore  limb  again 
finds  the  hub,  the  spinnerets  again  touch  the  radius 


GEOMETRICAL   SPIDERS  97 

a  similar  distance  away.  The  line  is  drawn  tight 
between  the  radii  and  secured.  So  continues  the 
spider  on  to  the  next  radius  and  completely  round  the 
snare.  At  every  radius  the  same  distance  is  measured  ; 
the  distance  being  the  full  expanse  of  the  spider's  body 
from  the  tip  of  its  fore  leg  on  the  hub  to  the  spinnerets 
applied  to  the  radius. 

The  first  turn  is  complete.  The  spider  passes  on 
to  the  second  turn.  The  same  mechanism  follows. 
But  the  spider  measures  its  distance  not  from  the  hub 
but  from  the  first  turn.  And  as  the  second  turn  is 
measured  from  the  first  turn,  so  also  is  the  third  turn 
measured  from  the  second  turn,  and  the  same  mechan- 
ism continues  round  the  snare  until  all  the  turns  are 
complete. 

Again  we  find  that  the  method  of  construction  is  a 
simple  geometrical  act.  The  spider  is  faced  with  a 
definite  problem  and  must  solve  it  on  mathematical 
lines.  Each  turn  in  the  spiral  must  be  parallel,  and 
only  by  accurate  measurement  can  this  parallelism  be 
secured.  The  spider  by  its  wonderful  instinct  can 
meet  the  problem.  It  has  many  organs  of  measure- 
ment at  its  command.  In  fashioning  its  temporary 
spiral  it  employs  the  simplest  of  all — the  measurement 
of  its  own  length. 

The  temporary  spiral  is  complete.  A  solid  frame- 
work is  in  position  to  receive  the  viscid  spiral,  the 
deadly  element  of  the  snare.  No  part  of  the  fabric  is 
more  beautiful  than  this,  nor  displays  its  mathematical 
perfection  to  so  remarkable  a  degree.  The  question 
is,  how  is  all  this  accuracy  attained  ;  how  does  the 
spider  measure  with  such  precision  this  most  wonderful 
portion  of  its  architecture  ? 

H 


98         A   NATURALIST   IN   IIIIMALAYA 

Again  wc  watch  the  spider  at  work.  It  has  sealed 
the  end  of  its  temporary  spiral  and  immediately  starts 
at  the  first  turn  of  its  viscid  spiral.  Out  along  a 
radius  it  travels  with  agile  movements  and  unerring 
skill.  It  takes  three  hurried  paces,  halts,  applies  its 
spinnerets  to  the  radius  and  secures  a  line.  The  first 
turn  of  the  viscid  spiral  has  commenced.  Back  along 
a  radius  it  hastens  and  across  the  last  turn  of  the 
temporary  spiral  that  now  serves  it  as  a  bridge.  It 
reaches  the  next  radius  and  hurries  out  along  it.  We 
watch  carefully,  for  this  is  the  important  point.  It 
moves  out  along  this  radius  for  exactly  three  paces. 
It  halts,  applies  its  spinnerets,  draws  tight  and  secures 
the  line.  Back  again  along  the  radius,  over  the  next 
bridge,  out  along  the  next  radius  for  three  paces,  and 
it  again  secures  the  line.  And  so  on  for  every  radius 
till  the  first  turn  of  the  viscid  spiral  is  complete. 
Every  attachment  in  this  turn  is  fixed  to  every  radius 
exactly  three  paces  distant  from  the  last  turn  of  the 
temporary  spiral. 

Again  do  we  find  that  accuracy  of  measurement  is 
the  clue  to  the  spider's  work.  As  the  turns  of  the 
temporary  spiral  are  measured,  each  one  from  the 
preceding  turn,  so  is  the  first  turn  of  the  viscid  spiral 
measured  from  the  last  turn  of  the  temporary  spiral. 
Similar  is  the  principle  but  different  is  the  method. 
The  interval  between  each  turn  of  the  temporary 
spiral  is  short ;  it  can  be  measured  by  the  body-length. 
The  viscid  spiral  is  laid  down  at  a  greater  distance  ; 
it  must  be  measured  by  the  number  of  paces,  an  equal 
number  at  every  spoke.  Thus  does  the  geometrical 
spider  measure  and  calculate  each  step  in  its  architec- 
ture.     How  human-like  are  these  simple  acts,  all  the 


GEOMETRICAL   SPIDERS  99 

more  wonderful  because  they  are  simple.  For  as  the 
spicier  paces  the  distance  through  its  snare,  so  does  man 
often,  in  his  daily  life,  pace  his  distance  over  the  ground. 

The  first  turn  of  the  viscid  spiral  being  complete,  I 
come  now  to  the  construction  of  the  succeeding  turns 
of  that  spiral,  the  perfect  parallelism  of  which  makes 
for  the  beauty  and  subtlety  of  the  snare.  How  is  this 
parallelism  secured  ?  How  is  each  filament  in  the 
spiral  adjusted  by  the  spider  at  an  equal  distance  from 
each  adjoining  filament  ?  We  have  seen  that  the 
second,  third,  fourth  and  succeeding  turns  of  the 
temporary  spiral  are  measured  off  each  from  the  pre- 
ceding turn.  We  have  also  seen  that  the  first  turn 
of  the  viscid  spiral  is  measured  off  from  the  last  turn 
of  the  temporary  spiral.  In  fact  the  distance  of  each 
turn  is  estimated  from  the  turn  immediately  internal  to 
it.  I  therefore  first  thought  that  the  spider  in  some 
way  measured  all  the  turns  of  its  viscid  spiral  from  the 
bridge  formed  by  the  temporary  spiral.  I  was  unable 
to  understand  how  It  could  effect  this,  until  at  last  a 
simple  experiment  convinced  me  that  I  was  mistaken  ; 
that  the  temporary  spiral  was  not  the  guide  to  measure- 
ment, but  that  the  architect  worked  on  some  different 
plan. 

I  found  a  spider  spinning.  The  viscid  spiral  was 
being  laid  down.  Between  every  attachment  the 
spider  had  to  cross  over  its  bridge  formed  by  the 
temporary  spiral.  With  a  sharp  pair  of  scissors  I 
divided  the  bridge  in  one  segment.  The  spider  took 
no  notice  and  circled  on.  In  every  other  segment  It 
pursued  its  normal  course,  crossing  over  the  customary 
bridge.  But  In  the  experimental  segment  the  bridge 
was  gone  and  the  spider  had  to  continue  Inwards  until 


100       A  NATURALIST   IN   HIiVIALAYA 

it  reached  the  next  turn  of  the  temporary  spiral  before  it 
could  cross  over.  This  did  not  alter  the  accuracy  of  the 
spider's  work.  Without  any  hesitation  it  made  use  of 
the  inner  bridge,  and  I  was  surprised  to  see  that  this 
did  not  in  any  way  interfere  with  the  parallelism  of 
the  viscid  spiral  which  it  was  laying  down.  If,  as  I 
imagined,  the  spider  measured  each  turn  of  the  viscid 
spiral  from  the  last  turn  of  the  temporary  spiral,  then 
in  that  sei^ment  where  the  turn  was  divided  the 
parallelism  should  have  been  lost,  for  the  point  of 
measurement  was  gone.  But  this  was  not  the  case. 
The  threads  were  as  parallel  in  the  experimental 
segment  as  in  any  other  segment.  We  must  look  to 
some  other  mode  of  measurement  to  explain  the  secret 
of  the  work. 

It  is  clear  that  the  measurement  is  not  made  from 
within.  Perhaps  it  is  made  from  without.  The  spider 
may  measure  the  turn  of  its  viscid  spiral  from  the  turn 
that  lies  just  external  to  it  and  which  was  laid  down  in 
its  last  circuit.  We  watch  the  operation  with  the 
greatest  care.  Out  along  the  radius  moves  the  spider 
until  it  reaches  the  point  where  it  will  attach  its  thread. 
A  peculiar  motion  now  occurs  and  this  is  the  secret  of 
its  work.  The  attachment  is  not  yet  made.  The 
whole  body  of  the  spider  first  undergoes  a  partial 
rotation  ;  the  fore  limb  is  extended  forward  ;  the 
sensitive  tip  gently  touches  the  filament  of  the  viscid 
spiral  laid  down  in  the  previous  circuit,  and,  when  this 
is  done,  the  spinnerets  are  applied  to  the  radius  and 
the  attachment  is  made.  What  is  the  spider  doing? 
Surely  it  is  using  its  fore  limb  to  measure  the  correct 
distance  from  the  previous  turn  of  the  spiral  at  which 
to  make  its  new  attachment. 


GEOMETRICAL   SPIDERS  101 

Just  as  a  human  being,  when  drawing  one  Hne 
parallel  to  another  line,  uses  the  position  of  the  first 
line  to  judge  with  his  eye  the  accuracy  of  the  second 
line,  so  does  the  spider  in  weaving  the  beautiful 
parallel  texture  of  its  snare  use  the  position  of  one 
turn  of  its  spiral  from  which  to  measure  with  its  fore 
leg  the  accurate  position  of  the  next  turn. 

Observation  of  the  spider  at  its  work  makes  us 
almost  confident  of  the  truth  of  this.  But  its  move- 
ments are  so  agile  ;  the  turn  of  its  body,  the  gentle 
touch  with  the  fore  leg,  the  rapid  application  of  the 
spinnerets,  follow  one  another  so  quickly  that  it  is 
difficult  to  be  certain  of  the  sequence  of  events.  If 
the  fore  leg  is  indeed  the  vital  organ  in  the  operation, 
the  measuring  rule  by  which  one  line  is  laid  parallel 
to  the  preceding  line,  then  a  few  careful  experiments 
should  confirm  the  truth  of  the  belief. 

If  the  spider  places  one  turn  in  position  by  estimat- 
ing the  distance  from  the  preceding  turn,  then  if  I 
divide  the  preceding  turn,  the  spider  will  have  lost  its 
point  of  measurement  and  parallelism  will  be  destroyed. 
I  choose  one  segment  for  the  experiment  when  the 
spider  is  working  at  its  viscid  spiral.  It  has  just 
crossed  the  segment,  leaving  a  filament  in  its  train. 
I  divide  the  filament.  The  spider  circles  on,  laying 
down  the  spiral  to  perfection  until  it  again  reaches  the 
experimental  segment.  Arriving  at  this  segment,  what 
happens  ?  The  spider  as  usual  stretches  forth  its  leg 
to  feel  for  the  line  laid  down  in  its  last  circle.  But  the 
line  is  gone.  The  spider  finds  nothing  there.  It 
stretches  still  further  forward  and  feels  the  next  line, 
the  one  laid  down  in  its  second  last  circle.  This  line 
it  takes  to  be  the  true  line.     From   it  the  measure- 


102       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

ment  is  made,  and  the  filament  anchored  in  the  wrong 
place.  The  diagram  (Fig.  3)  illustrates  what  has 
occurred.  Turn  first  to  diagram  a.  Let  w,x,y,  z  be 
four  adjoining  segments.  Let  x  be  the  experimental 
segment,  and  let  three  turns,  i,  2,  3,  of  the  viscid 
spiral  be  complete.  I  divide  the  innermost  turn  in 
segment  x.  Now  turn  to  diagram  b.  The  spider 
circles  on  laying  down  the  fourth  turn  of  its  spiral 
all  round  the  snare.     At  length  it  reaches  the  radius 


a 


Fig.  3.— Loss  of  parallelism  resulting  from  division  of  one  turn 
of  viscid  spiral  in  one  segment. 

(a)  Viscid  S]nral  divided  in  segment  X. 

(J))   Result  of  spider's  work.     Loss  of  parailelisin  in  both  X  and  Y. 

Arrow  marks  the  direction  of  spider's  circle. 


between  z  and  y.  Here  all  is  well.  It  feels  in  its 
measurement  the  turn  it  has  last  laid  down  and  the 
fourth  line  is  parallel  across  segment  z.  It  passes  on 
to  the  radius  between  x  and  jj/.  It  reaches  forward  to 
feel  line  3.  But  line  3  is  gone,  so  it  must  touch  line  2. 
Its  measurement  is  incorrect.  The  attachment  is  made 
in  the  wrong  place,  farther  out  on  the  radius,  and  the 
line  drawn  across  segment  y  is  out  of  parallel.  The 
spider  passes  on.  It  reaches  the  radius  between  w 
and  X.  Stretching  forward,  it  touches  the  correct  line. 
It  anchors  its  filament  in  the  right  place.      But  the 


GEOMETRICAL   SPIDERS 


103 


other  end  of  that  filament  has  found  a  wrong  attach- 
ment, therefore  the  Hne  across  secfment  x  is  also  out 
of  parallel.  To  sum  up,  the  result  of  the  experiment 
is  this.  One  turn  of  the  viscid  spiral  is  divided  in  one 
segment.  Parallelism  is  lost  in  both  that  and  the  pre- 
ceding segment.  In  the  one  the  lines  diverge,  in  the 
other  they  converge.  The  essential  fact  is  that, 
the  point  of  measurement  being  removed,  then  the 
parallelism  is  lost. 


Fig.  4. — Loss  of  parallelism  resulting  from  division  of  one  turn 
of  viscid  spiral  in  two  segments. 

{a)  Viscid  spiral  divided  in  segments  X  and  Y. 

{b)   Result  of  spider's  work.     Loss  of  parallelism  in  both  X  and  Z. 

Arrow  marks  the  direction  of  spider's  circle. 


I  perform  a  similar  experiment,  but  divide  the  spiral 
in  two  adjoining  segments  (Fig.  4,  a  and  b).  I  will 
not  labour  over  the  details,  as  these  the  diagram 
should  explain.  Again  a  similar  sequence  follows. 
The  spider  measures  from  the  wrong  lines ;  the 
attachments  are  made  in  the  wrong  place,  and  the 
perfect  parallelism  is  lost. 

Difficulties  may  prevent  the  success  of  these  experi- 
ments. For  when  I  divide  a  filament,  little  tags  of 
the  spiral  are  left  attached  to  the  radii.  Now  the 
spider  in  reaching  forward  to  find  its  point  of  measure- 


104       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

ment  may  touch  one  of  these  httle  tags  and,  beHcving 
it  to  be  the  spiral,  may  anchor  its  new  filament  correctly. 
Moreover,  the  experiment  seldom  succeeds  when  the 
spider  is  working  at  the  inner  and  smaller  turns  of  the 
spiral.  This,  I  think,  is  due  to  the  fact  that  here  the 
spider  can  move  directly  across  from  radius  to  radius 
without  deviating  its  course,  or  can  stretch  directly  to 
its  point  of  attachment  from  its  bridge  on  the  tempo- 
rary spiral,  so  that  the  previous  turn  of  the  viscid 
spiral  is  here  much  less  important  as  a  means  of 
measurement  than  in  the  earlier  and  more  external 
part  of  its  construction. 

But  these  difficulties  avoided,  we  reach  a  clear 
conclusion.  Each  turn  in  the  viscid  spiral  is  the 
essential  guide  to  the  accuracy  of  the  next  turn.  For 
if  the  one  be  divided  then  the  next  is  incorrect.  And 
from  the  way  the  spider  feels  with  its  leg  at  each 
attachment,  there  is  strong  reason  to  think  that  the 
fore  leg  is  the  organ  on  which  the  accuracy  depends. 
These  experiments  strengthened  my  belief  that  the 
fore  leg  was  the  instrument  employed  by  the  spider 
to  draw  line  parallel  to  line. 

But  a  third  experiment  overcame  all  doubts.  I 
found  a  snare  in  which  the  spider  had  cot  leted  the 
outermost  turn  of  the  viscid  spiral.  VVith  a  fine 
pair  of  scissors  I  succeeded  in  cutting  off  the  tips  of 
the  spider's  two  fore  legs.  By  this  operation  I  had 
removed  what  I  believed  to  be  the  sensitive  organs 
of  measurement,  and  I  was  eager  to  detect  whether 
the  spider  could  continue  the  construction  of  the 
snare  after  so  serious  a  mutilation,  and,  above  all, 
if  it  could  still  ensure  the  parallelism  of  its  lines. 
Immediately    after    I    had  nipped  off  the  tip   of  the 


GEOMETRICAL   SPIDERS  105 

limbs,  the  spider  hurried  away  along  the  foundation- 
Hnes  to  a  place  of  shelter  outside  the  snare.  After  a 
lapse  of  fifteen  minutes  the  spider  again  returned, 
remained  motionless  for  about  two  minutes  at  the 
centre  of  the  snare,  and  then  moved  out  along  a  radius 
to  continue  the  work  of  construction.  It  was  distinctly- 
evident  that  the  movements  of  the  spider  were  greatly 
hampered  by  the  mutilation.  It  advanced  slowly, 
deliberately  and  more  laboriously  than  before.  There 
was  a  complete  absence  of  all  skill  and  agility  in  its 
motion.  It  approached  the  point  where  the  work  had 
been  interrupted  and  again  took  up  the  thread  of  its 
labour.  Away  it  started  on  its  spiral  round,  strug- 
gling with  difficulty  from  radius  to  radius  and  trying 
in  vain  to  attach  a  spiral  at  equidistant  radial  points. 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  fact  that  the  spider  was 
at  a  great  disadvantage  after  the  loss  of  its  organs 
of  measurement,  and  that  it  was  quite  unable  to  ensure 
the  parallelism  of  its  lines.  It  attempted  to  use  its 
amputated  stump,  waving  it  helplessly  in  the  air,  but 
its  efforts  were  in  vain.  Yet  the  spider  was  more 
adaptable  than  I  thought.  Finding  itself  unable  to 
measure  after  the  loss  of  its  fore  limbs,  it  began  now 
to  try  and  estimate  the  distance  by  the  use  of  its  hind 
limbs.  In  this  way  a  limited  degree  of  compensation 
took  place.  It  made  some  attempt  at  measurement, 
but  with  indifferent  success.  Yet  the  spider  circled  on. 
Laboriously  it  plodded  round  and  round  the  snare, 
continually  measuring  its  distance  incorrectly  and 
making  the  adhesions  in  the  wrong  place.  Three 
times  it  neglected  to  insert  a  whole  spiral ;  again  and 
again  it  made  attachment  to  the  spiral  instead  of  to 
the  radius,  and  sometimes  it  passed  by  a  radius  with- 


10(5       A   NATURALIST   IN    HIMALAYA 

out  nicikinf^  any  attachment  at  all.  Yet  the  spider  toiled 
deliberately  on.  Smaller  and  smaller  grew  the  spiral, 
stranger  and  stranger  grew  the  irregularities  of  its 
structure,  yet  the  spider,  in  spite  of  all  its  difficulties 
and  mutilations,  brought  the  snare  to  a  completion. 
But  it  was  of  a  remarkable  workmanship.  No  one 
who  has  contemplated  the  mathematical  accuracy  of 
a  circular  snare  could  have  looked  with  indifference 
on  its  tangled  texture.  Its  radial  and  parallel  beauty 
was  lost ;  threads  in  confusion  adhered  to  one  another  ; 
triangles,  quadrilaterals  of  every  shape  replaced  the 
perfect  symmetry  of  its  parallelograms  ;  spirals  crossed 
other  spirals  ;  broad  and  narrow  spaces  lay  indifferently 
between  the  turns  ;  radii  were  drawn  out  of  shape  or 
were  left  without  attachment  ;  the  web  was  not 
a  visible  harmony  but  a  strange  intermingling  of 
confusion  and  disorder. 

No  experiment  convinced  me  so  strongly  that  the 
fore  limbs  were  the  all-important  organs  of  measure- 
ment to  ensure  the  perfect  symmetry  of  the  snare. 

Such  are  the  geometrical  powers  of  the  Epcira  ; 
wonderful  in  their  origin,  simple  in  their  execution, 
accurate  in  their  result.  Measurement  and  precision 
are  the  secrets  of  the  work.  On  the  possession  of 
these  powers,  and  the  instinct  to  employ  them,  depend 
the  perfection  and  beauty  of  the  snare.  On  its  body 
it  carries  its  organs  of  measurement — the  number  of 
its  paces,  the  length  of  its  body,  the  divergence  of  its 
limbs  ;  the  very  same  organs  that,  in  his  rough  measure- 
ments, primitive  man  might  use.  Employing  those 
organs  with  mathematical  precision,  it  weaves  that  silken 
texture,  every  line  in  harmony  making  the  whole  so 
exquisite  in   our  eyes.     Yet   underlying  the  complex 


GEOMETRICAL   SPIDERS  107 

structure  is  a  pure  and  simple  mechanism  conducted 
on  rigid  lines.  Let  us  not  think  less  of  the  beauty  of 
the  architecture  because  it  is  built  on  the  strictest 
measurements,  nor  less  of  our  wonder  at  the  architect 
because  it  is  governed  by  unswerving  laws. 


CHAPTER   VII 

FURTHER    OBSERVATIONS    ON    THE    GEOMETRICAL    SNARE 

Ultimate  fate  of  temporary  spiral — Reversal  of  spiral — Reason  of  reversal 
of  spiral — Example  of  plasticity  of  instinct — Spidei-'s  power  to  esti- 
mate tension — Delicacy  of  sense  of  touch — Industry  of  Artwcus — 
Mode  of  emission  of  filament — Economy  of  spider  and  destruction  of 
snare — Perfection  and  imperfection  in  snare. 

In  the  previous  chapter  I  have  endeavoured  to  make 
clear  the  mathematical  powers  by  which  I  believe  the 
spider  works,  and  I  now  pass  to  consider  some  other 
features  of  interest  in  the  geometry  of  the  circular 
snare. 

I  must  first  mention  one  incident  in  the  workmanship 
of  the  spider,  since  it  serves  to  illustrate  how  a  certain 
step  in  the  architecture  can  serve  merely  as  a  temporary 
support  until  the  next  step  is  complete.  I  refer  to 
the  ultimate  disappearance  of  the  temporary  spiral. 
If  the  viscid  spiral  was  brought  to  a  completion 
while  the  temporary  spiral  still  remained  in  place, 
then  the  final  workmanship  would  consist  of  a 
mixture  of  two  spirals,  one  of  viscid  and  the  other 
of  non-viscid  lines.  But  so  clumsy  an  architecture 
will  not  suit  the  spider.  It  works  on  a  more  perfect 
plan.  Its  edifice  must  contain  only  a  single  spiral 
composed  solely  of  viscid  lines.  How  does  it  effect 
this.'*  We  watch  the  spider  at  its  work.  In  the  snare 
under  observation  the  temporary  spiral  is  complete, 
and  we  notice  that  the  spider  has  just  sufficient  room 

108 


THE   GEOMETRICAL   SNARE  109 

to  fit  in  four  turns  of  the  viscid  spiral  between  the 
circumference  of  the  snare  and  the  outer  turn  of  the 
temporary  spiral.  What  I  wish  to  make  clear  is  this  : 
that  after  the  spider  commences  on  its  viscid  spiral  it 
will  have  sufficient  space  to  complete  the  first  four 
turns,  but  that  the  fifth  turn  will  happen  to  meet  the 
outer  turn  of  the  temporary  spiral  and  the  two  will 
become  intermingled.  We  watch  to  see  what  the 
spider  will  do.  It  completes  the  first  three  turns  in 
the  ordinary  way,  of  course  using  the  outer  turn  of 
the  temporary  spiral  as  the  bridge  to  pass  across  from 
radius  to  radius.  It  comes  to  the  fourth  turn.  It  has 
sufficient  room  to  insert  this.  It  is  the  next  turn 
that  will  coincide  with  the  temporary  spiral.  What 
does  the  spider  do  ?  It  rises  to  the  emergency.  It 
behaves  as  though  it  foresaw  its  difficulties.  It  sets 
about  destroying  its  bridges  so  as  to  allow  a  free  space 
for  the  fifth  turn  of  its  viscid  spiral.  Each  time  it 
completes  the  fourth  turn  of  the  viscid  spiral  in  any 
segment  it  at  the  same  moment  severs  the  bridge  in 
that  segment.  It  first  crosses  the  bridge,  then  divides 
the  line  behind  it.  And  this  process  of  division  con- 
tinues until  the  outer  turn  of  the  temporary  spiral  has 
been  severed  all  round  the  snare.  The  fifth  turn  of 
the  viscid  spiral  can  then  be  freely  laid  down.  A 
similar  destruction  follows  in  the  case  of  the  inner 
turns  of  the  temporary  spiral.  As  soon  as  the  spider 
finds  that  the  next  turn  of  its  viscid  spiral  will  get 
entangled  with  its  bridge  it  adopts  the  ingenious 
method  of  simply  dividing  the  bridge.  Each  turn  is 
severed  as  soon  as  the  viscid  spiral  reaches  it. 

Thus    does    the    temporary    spiral    disappear.      It 
has  served  its  purpose  and  has  served  it  well.      It  has 


110       A   NATURALIST   IN    HIMALAYA 

served  as  a  measurlno^  line  from  which  to  adjust 
the  outermost  turn  of  the  viscid  spiral,  it  has  bound 
the  radii  together  until  the  viscid  spiral  was  in  place, 
it  has  served  as  a  succession  of  many  bridges  to 
convey  the  spider  from  radius  to  radius.  All  these 
functions  arc  now  complete  ;  they  take  no  part  in  the 
ensnaring-  of  the  prey.  The  temporary  spiral  is  there- 
fore of  no  further  use  ;  its  presence  any  longer  would 


¥lC.  5.  •  Diagram  of  reversal  of  spiral. 

(a)  One  method. 
(/*)  Another  method. 

The  spider  has  reversed  at  the  point  X. 

lead  to  loss  of  symmetry  and  to  imperfection  ;  it   is 
therefore  destroyed  and  disappears. 

I  come  now  to  consider  another  feature  in  the 
architecture  of  the  snare.  If  an  Aranens  be  carefully 
watched  while  constructing  its  viscid  spiral,  it  will  be 
noticed  that  from  time  to  time  the  spider  stops,  turns 
about  and  commences  to  circle  again  round  the  snare 
in  the  opposite  direction.  It  rarely  completes  its  spiral 
from  the  first  to  the  last  turn  by  always  circling  in 
the  same  direction.  It  is  working  to  the  right.  It 
suddenly  halts,  seals  off  the  end  of  its  spiral,  turns 
about,    commences  a   new  spiral  and   starts   off  on  a 


THE   GEOMETRICAL   SNARE  111 

fresh  circle  to  the  left.  I  shall  speak  of  this  change 
in  the  mode  of  operation  as  "  the  reversal  of  the 
spiral."  A  reference  to  Fio-.  5  will  show  two  modi- 
fications of  the  way  in  which  this  reversal  is  made. 

For  a  long-  time  I  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  why 
the  spider  should  suddenly,  and  without  apparent 
cause,  interrupt  its  instinctive  circle  and  start  a  reverse 


Fig.  6. — Reversal  of  spiral  in  an  eccentric  snare. 

Points  of  reversal  marked  with  an  asterisk. 

Twelve  turns  on  narrow  side,  twenty  tui  ns  on  broad  side  of  centre. 

spiral  in  the  opposite  direction  round  the  snare.  It 
always  occurred  so  unexpectedly  and  seemed  such  a 
very  unessential  act.  It  was  so  complete  a  change 
in  the  undeviating  course  of  instinct,  and  instinct 
moves  by  inexorable  laws. 

I  noted,  however,  after  examining  a  number  of 
snares,  that  what  I  have  called  the  centre  was  seldom 
a  true  mathematical  centre.  The  radii  varied  in 
length,  and  the  centre  from  where  they  all  diverged 


112       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

was  frequently  very  eccentric.  Thus  the  spider,  when 
constructinq^  an  eccentric  snare,  would  have  to  separate 
the  various  turns  of  the  viscid  spiral  more  widely  on 
the  broad  side  of  the  centre  and  approximate  them 
on  the  narrow  side,  or  else  would  have  to  insert  more 
turns  on  the  former  than  on  the  latter  side  if  it  wished 
to  produce  a  harmonious  fabric.  Now  every  time  the 
spider  turned  in  its  course  it  inserted,  as  is  clear  from 
the  diagram  (Fig.  6),  an  additional  filament  on  that 
side  of  the  centre,  which  addition  was  absent  from  the 
opposite  side.  Can  it  be  that,  in  order  to  ensure 
harmony  in  its  snare,  the  spider  reverses  on  the  broad 
side  and  continues  an  uninterrupted  course  in  its  work 
on  the  narrow  side.'*  Certainly  this  method  would 
produce  symmetry,  and  in  all  probability  would  be  a 
more  simple  operation  for  the  spider  than  the  attempt 
to  draw  parallel  lines  at  different  distances,  wide  apart 
on  the  broad  side  and  closer  together  on  the  narrow 
side  of  the  centre. 

I  discovered  a  very  eccentric  snare  with  the  radii 
just  completed.  I  followed  the  spider  at  its  work  on 
the  viscid  spiral.  I  carefully  noted  the  number  of 
reverses  and  whether  they  occurred  on  the  broad 
or  narrow  side  of  the  centre.  The  spider  circled 
round  and  round  the  snare  and  made  exactly  thirty 
complete  turns  from  its  commencement  to  its  com- 
pletion. But  in  addition  to  the  complete  turns,  the 
spider  reversed  fourteen  times,  and  every  single  one 
of  those  reverses  added  an  additional  filament  to  the 
broad  side  of  the  centre  and  not  one  to  the  narrow 
side.  The  turns  of  the  spiral  on  the  broad  side  were 
not  more  widely  separated  than  those  on  the  narrow 
side,   but  their  number  was  much  greater.     After  the 


THE   GEOMETRICAL   SNARE  113 

completion  of  the  snare  there  were  forty-four  turns  on 
the  broad  side  and  only  thirty  on  the  narrow  side. 
It  was  evident  that  the  cause  of  the  reversal  of  the 
spiral  was  the  eccentricity  of  the  snare,  and  that  it 
was  the  means  adopted  by  the  spider  to  perform  the 
difficult  operation  of  winding  spirals  round  an  eccentric 
point  with  the  least  possible  loss  of  parallelism  and 
symmetry. 

This  reversal  of  the  spiral  is  to  my  mind  an  excellent 
example  of  the  plasticity  of  instinct.  No  two  snares 
can  be  exactly  alike  ;  some  are  more,  others  are  less 
eccentric.  All  must  vary  somewhat  in  their  construc- 
tion. In  some  the  number  of  reversals  are  few,  in 
others  many,  possibly  in  others  there  may  be  none 
required.  In  some  the  reversed  spiral  may  be  so 
short  as  to  connect  but  two  radii,  in  others  it  may 
connect  ten.  In  every  snare  the  reverses  must  vary 
in  number,  in  order  and  in  length.  What  a  wonderful 
flexibility  of  instinct  must  a  spider  possess  to  adapt  its 
work  to  such  changing  circumstances  and  construct  in 
the  end  a  perfect  architecture.  Every  snare  the  spider 
weaves  must  differ  in  some  way  from  its  predecessor 
and  must  demand  some  modification  in  the  plastic 
instinct  which  may  never  before  have  been  called  into 
action.  It  would  not  be  surprising  to  see  every  snare 
varying  in  length  or  breadth  or  even  in  the  number 
of  the  turns  of  the  spiral,  for  such  variations  are  those 
of  the  ordinary  course  of  nature  and  directed  to  no 
vital  end.  But  it  is  wonderful  to  think  that  this  varia- 
tion in  the  reversal  of  the  spiral  is  so  necessary,  so 
intricate,  so  universal,  and  is  directed  to  the  ultimate 
purpose  of  mathematical  perfection  in  the  complexity 
of  the    snare.      It    is   indeed  strange   to    witness    the 


114       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

mechanical  motion  of  the  spider  round  and  round  the 
web  and  to  ponder  over  the  heedless  instinct  that 
compels  the  same  eternal  round.  But  still  more 
strange  would  be  the  picture  of  the  snare  if  instinct 
was  so  blind  as  to  allow  of  no  reversal  and  to  compel 
the  spider  in  the  same  headloncr  course.  The  whole 
fabric  would  be  unsymmetrical,  all  its  perfect  beauty 
would  be  lost.  The  astonishment  is  not  in  seeing 
the  monotonous  routine  of  instinct,  but  rather  in 
seeing  that  instinct  so  plastic  as  to  enable  the  spider 
to  achieve  this  perfect  symmetry  no  matter  how  great 
is  the  eccentricity  of  its  snare. 

Is  it  possible  to  gain  any  clue  as  to  what  guides  the 
spider  in  the  performance  of  this  essential  act?     How 
does  the  spider  know  when  to  reverse  and  when  to 
pursue  an  unbroken  course  ?     I   cannot  with  complete 
confidence  explain  this,  but   I   strongly  suspect  that  it 
is  guided  by  its  fine  sense  of  touch  and  the  power  to 
estimate  the  tension   of  its   lines.      I    have  observed 
that  a  small  species  of  Epeira,  which  constructs   its 
snare   in   the   coniferous    forests,    seems    distinctly    to 
possess    the    power    of    discriminating   between    any 
alterations  of  tension  that  may  exist  at  different  parts 
of  the  snare.     This  spider  weaves  its  web  at  the  point 
of  radiation  of  three  foundation-lines.     If  one  of  these 
foundation-lines    be  gently  stretched  away  from  the 
snare,   the   spider,   while    resting   at    the    centre,    will 
immediately  recognize  the  change  in  tension  that  has 
occurred.      It  will   form  a  correct  impression    of  the 
direction    of  the  abnormal   strain,    and    will    advance 
to   investigate  the  cause    of  the    disturbance.      I    am 
satisfied    that    the   Epeira    can    discriminate    between 
different  states  of  tension,  and   we  should   remember 


THE   GEOMETRICAL   SNARE  115 

how  acute  is  the  delicate  sense  of  touch.  Watch  a 
spider  seated  at  the  centre  of  its  snare.  Its  sensitive 
limbs  diverge  so  as  to  rest  on  radii  coming  from  all 
parts  of  the  circumference.  It  can  in  this  way  detect 
vibrations  in  all  directions,  as  it  is  in  tactile  com- 
munication with  every  area  of  the  snare.  It  is 
interesting  to  see  the  spider  testing  the  radii  at 
every  thrill  and  feeling  their  tension  when  it  is 
doubtful  of  its  capture. 

I   have  thought  that  the  stimulus  to  produce   that 
wonderful  accuracy  in  the  reversal  of  the  spiral  might 
be  the  differences  in  tension  along  the  unequal  radii 
of  the  eccentric  snare.      For  since  a  spider  is  able  to 
estimate  changes  in  tension,  it  is  probable  that  it  could 
also  differentiate  between  the  long  and  short  radii  of 
an  eccentric  snare,  which  would  certainly,  if  they  were 
wires  or  strings,  give  to  the  human  fingers  very  per- 
ceptible differences  in  sensation.      By  the  difference  in 
tension  the  spider  should  discriminate  between  a  radius 
on  the  broad  side  and  a  radius  on  the  narrow  side  of 
the  centre.    At  the  moment  of  attachment  of  the  spiral 
to  a  radius  the  spider  probably  estimates  the  length  of 
free  radius  between  the  point  of  attachment  and  the 
centre  of  the  snare  ;  and  in  an  eccentric  snare  all  these 
lengths  will  vary.     The  sensation  produced  by  contact 
with  long  radii  would  be  of  a  different  nature  to  that 
produced  by  the  short  radii,  and  the  spider  may  react 
to  the  former  stimulus  by  a  reverse.     The  outer  por- 
tions of  the  radii,  to  which  the  previous  turns  of  the 
spiral  have  already  been  attached,  would  not  be  con- 
sidered by  the  spider,  as  that  portion  would  be  damped 
by  the  turns  of  the  spiral  in  the  same  way  as  the  finger 
damps  off  a  segment  of  a  violin  string. 


110       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

Hius  a  spider,  during  the  construction  of  a  circular 
eccentric  snare,  may,  by  its  exquisite  sense  of  touch, 
differentiate  between  the  long  and  the  short  radii.  It 
may  continue  to  reverse  its  spiral  so  as  to  attach  addi- 
tional turns  to  the  lon^r  radii  until  sufficient  reverses 
have  been  made  to  give  the  free  parts  of  all  the  radii 
an  equal  length  and  convey  a  uniform  stimulus  to  the 
sense  of  touch.  This  speculation  is  to  a  great  extent 
surmise.  It  is  supported  by  the  fact  that  the  reversals 
are  more  numerous  durin""  the  earlier  turns  of  the 
spiral  when  the  inequality  of  the  radii  would  be  more 
easily  felt.  In  the  latter  half  of  the  construction  the 
number  of  the  reversals  is  few  or  there  may  be  none 
at  all.  And  this  I  think  is  due  to  the  fact  that  the 
radii  are  then  less  unequal  owing  to  the  many  reversals 
already  made. 

And  if  this  view  be  true,  then  how  delicate  must  be 
the  sense  of  a  spider's  touch.  It  must  be  developed  to 
so  high  a  degree  of  perfection  that  the  mathematical 
accuracy  of  the  work  will  very  largely  depend  on  the 
delicacy  of  the  tactile  power  to  estimate  the  changes  of 
tension  in  the  lines  of  different  lenoth  that  radiate  from 
the  centre  of  an  eccentric  snare. 

A  geometrical  spider  engaged  in  architecture  pur- 
sues its  work  with  a  restless  energy.  The  bees,  when 
seeking  nectar  from  the  flowers;  the  ants,  when  storing 
up  provision  in  their  nest,  are  no  more  tireless  in 
their  toil.  It  moves  with  hurried  pace  along  every 
spoke  ;  it  measures  its  lines  with  almost  imperceptible 
touch  ;  it  seals  its  filament  in  an  instant  and  then 
hastens  away.  All  its  movements  are  so  agile  that  at 
the  moment  it  can  have  but  one  object  in  view,  the 
speedy  completion  of  its  snare. 


THE   GEOMETRICAL   SNARE  117 

I  made  some  attempt  to  investigate  the  industry  of 
the  architect ;  to  estimate  the  amount  of  work  per- 
formed and  the  time  taken  to  complete  it.  Spanning 
a  deep  reflecting  pool  I  found  the  fragments  of  a  snare. 
Only  the  external  frame,  composed  of  strong  founda- 
tion-lines, remained.  The  more  fragile  texture  in  the 
centre  had  vanished.  It  was  evening.  Soon  the 
Epeb'a  would  descend  to  its  ruin,  for  the  time  of  work 
was  drawing  near.  I  thought  I  would  wait  for  the 
reconstruction  to  commence  and  attempt  to  estimate 
the  length  of  line  emitted  and  the  distance  travelled 
by  the  spider  during  the  complete  construction  of  its 
snare.  I  waded  out  into  the  pool,  found  the  diameter 
of  the  framework  to  measure  twenty-two  inches,  and 
awaited  the  commencement  of  the  work. 

As  the  sun  sank  low  in  the  sky,  the  Epeira  felt  the 
call  to  work.  It  moved  out  along  the  foundation-lines, 
first  to  explore  the  framework,  then  to  extend  the  radii 
through  the  snare.  I  followed  all  the  movements  of 
the  spider  from  its  first  attachment  to  the  completion 
of  the  web,  but  I  did  not  take  the  foundation-lines  into 
my  reckoning,  as  these  were  a  permanent  structure 
laid  down  many  days  before.  With  the  exception  of 
these  main  foundation-lines,  I  estimated  that,  from  the 
commencement  to  the  completion  of  the  snare,  the 
spider  emitted  122  feet  of  filament,  made  699  attach- 
ments and  travelled  over  a  distance  of  178  feet.  Yet 
the  whole  was  woven  into  a  circular  web  22  inches  in 
diameter  and  occupied  the  spider  only  36  minutes. 
This  seemed  to  me  an  excellent  instance  of  untirino- 
industry  as  displayed  by  the  more  humble  of  organic 
beings. 

It  has  been  a  subject  of  discussion  how  the  silken 


118       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

filament  escapes  from  the  spider's  spinnerets.  Is  it 
drawn  out  by  external  traction  or  is  it  emitted  by  the 
muscular  effort  of  the  spider  ?  I  am  inclined  to  believe 
that  the  spider  has  no  power  to  shoot  forth  its  own 
fragile  thread.  If  we  look  to  that  large  spider,  the 
Argyope,  wc  see  that  the  viscid  spiral  escapes  from 
the  spinnerets  only  with  great  difficulty.  The  Argyope 
certainly  cannot  shoot  forth  its  viscid  spiral.  A  defi- 
nite traction  is  necessary  to  withdraw  it.  For  once 
this  spider  arrives  at  the  construction  of  its  viscid 
spiral,  its  movements  become  more  laboured  ;  it  cannot 
circle  with  the  rapidity  of  other  geometrical  spiders. 
At  each  attachment  of  the  viscid  spiral  it  has  to  grasp 
the  adhesive  filament  with  its  tarsus,  slowly  draw  the 
sticky  line  from  its  own  spinnerets,  sometimes  transfer 
it  to  the  opposite  tarsus  to  gain  an  additional  purchase, 
and  not  until  it  has  with  no  little  labour  pulled  from  its 
own  abdomen  a  sufficient  length  of  line  is  it  able  to 
attach  the  spiral. 

Like  the  Argyope,  so  I  think  are  the  rest  of  the 
Epeiridce,  unable  by  their  own  internal  force  to  thrust 
out  their  silken  lines.  The  thread  must  feel  a  crentle 
strain  before  it  can  be  drawn  from  the  spinning-wheel. 
I  do  not  know  of  any  time  during  the  emission  of  the 
silk  when  this  strain  is  not  clearly  present.  As  the 
spider  circles  from  spoke  to  spoke  it  strains  on  its  last 
attachment ;  as  it  suddenly  drops  suspended  on  a  fila- 
ment the  strain  becomes  its  own  weight ;  as  it  gives  its 
first  line  to  the  breeze  the  strain  is  on  the  tuft  of  finest 
fibrils  that  catch  the  moving  air ;  and  in  the  beautiful 
Argyope  the  strain  is  often  the  traction  exerted  on  the 
line  by  the  spider's  own  legs.  During  the  emission  of 
the  line,  therefore,  there  is  always  some  tension  pro- 


THE   GEOMETRICAL   SNARE  119 

duced  by  an  external  strain.  Never  does  a  flaccid 
filament  hang  loosely  from  the  spinnerets.  May  not 
the  tension  which  is  ever  present  be  present  of 
necessity  ? 

I  have  dwelt  so  long  on  the  method  of  construction 
that  I  will  say  but  little  on  the  destruction  of  the  snare. 
Yet  nothing  in  the  architecture  of  the  spider  so  sur- 
prised me  as  the  manner  in  which  it  disappears. 

I  first  observed  the  process  in  a  true  home  of  the 
Epeirida:.  Where  the  water  falls  down  over  a  ledge 
of  rock  and  splashes  in  a  transparent  pool  the  spiders 
love  to  construct  their  snares.  Amidst  the  noise  of 
the  falling  waters  the  smaller  flies  revel  in  the  cascade. 
Above  the  pool  they  hover  and  dash  at  intervals 
amongst  the  dancing  drops  that  leap  from  the  quiver- 
ing pool  high  into  the  air.  It  is  strange  that  they 
should  choose  the  commotion  of  the  waters.  It  may 
be  for  pure  pleasure  that  they  dart  through  the  glitter- 
ing drops  and  flash  over  the  tiny  foam.  Where  the 
flies  hover,  there  the  spider  will  weave  its  snare.  At 
the  very  edge  of  the  fall  the  slender  lines  extend,  and 
look  as  though  they  would  be  torn  to  pieces  in  the 
spray.  But  the  silken  threads  are  strong,  and,  as  the 
sparkling  drops  ascend,  each  line  in  the  slender  fabric 
is  spangled  with  a  row  of  pearls. 

I  often  visited  this  pool  at  sunset  to  watch  the  colony 
at  work.  The  snares  were  then  renewed.  After  twenty- 
four  hours  only  the  tattered  fragments  remain  ;  a 
new  snare  was  spun  every  evening.  One  evening  on 
coming  to  the  pool,  I  happened  to  look  on  a  tattered 
snare  with  the  spider  resting  at  the  centre.  The  snare 
must  have  done  duty  for  twenty-four  hours  ;  it  was 
very  much  broken,  and  attached  to  its  meshes  were 


120       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

hundreds  of  tiny  insects  too  minute  to  attract  the 
attention  of  the  spider  at  the  time  of  their  entangle- 
ment. As  I  contemplated  the  ruin  of  the  snare,  the 
spider  slowly  emerged  from  its  position  at  the  centre. 
It  advanced  along  one  of  the  radii,  and  it  was  imme- 
diately evident  that  it  was  breaking  up  the  snare  in  its 
progress.  Closer  observation  revealed  the  extraordi- 
nary fact  that  it  was  actually  eating  up  its  own  snare. 
As  it  proceeded  outwards  the  spider  swallowed  the 
radius,  the  lines  of  the  viscid  spiral,  all  the  little  tags 
of  broken  filaments  and  the  innumerable  tiny  insects 
that  lay  entangled  in  its  course.  On  reaching  the 
outer  extremity  of  the  radius,  the  spider  returned  to 
the  centre  and  rested  there  for  about  five  minutes.  It 
then  commenced  to  destroy  and  devour  a  second  radius 
with  its  viscid  attachments  and  again  rested  at  the 
centre.  This  continued  until  all  the  radii,  the  whole 
of  the  spiral  and  the  hundreds  of  little  insects  had  all 
been  devoured.  After  the  destruction  of  each  radius 
the  spider  always  rested  at  the  centre  for  some  five 
minutes,  presumably  for  the  purpose  of  emptying  its 
stomach  so  as  to  fit  it  for  receiving  the  next  radius. 
The  spider  did  not  devour  the  foundation-lines  of  the 
snare,  as  it  intended  to  use  them  for  the  main  frame- 
work of  the  new  snare.  However,  it  carefully  examined 
these  lines  and  removed  from  them  any  loose  filaments 
or  minute  insects  that  happened  to  remain  attached. 

What  wonderful  economy  is  this  to  allow  nothing  to 
disappear!  If  in  a  snare  I  divide  a  number  of  fila- 
ments, the  spider  will  often  come  out  and  swallow 
eagerly  the  little  tags  of  silk  wherever  it  finds  them. 
But  in  this  final  act  how  much  more  strict  is  the 
economy  displayed !     The  construction  of  the  snare 


THE   GEOMETRICAL   SNARE  121 

expends  the  spider's  substance ;  but  all  that  remains, 
the  tattered  lines,  the  tiny  insects,  again  return  to  the 
architect ;  even  the  foundation-lines  are  searched  that 
nothing  goes  waste. 

I  was  at  first  very  much  surprised  to  think  that  a 
spider's  stomach  could  be  so  capacious  as  to  contain 
the  complete  snare.  In  this,  however,  I  was  much 
mistaken ;  for  I  found  that  a  large,  complete  snare, 
eleven  inches  in  diameter,  was  of  such  delicate  sub- 
stance and  compressible  into  so  small  a  bulk  that 
when  rolled  into  a  ball  between  the  fingers,  it  formed 
a  compact  mass  but  little  larger  than  an  ordinary  pin- 
head.  A  spider  will  often  swallow  entire  a  fly  of 
much  greater  dimensions  than  its  own  compact 
snare. 

I  look  on  the  circular  snare  of  the  Epeira  as  almost 
as  beautiful  an  example  of  mathematical  accuracy  in 
the  life  of  organic  beings  as  the  exquisite  structure  of 
the  honeycomb.  But  how  much  more  wonderful  does 
it  all  seem  when  we  picture  the  web  as  a  potential 
fabric,  first  woven  into  an  inimitable  harmony  to  lure 
to  death  thousands  of  living  creatures,  then,  tattered 
and  torn  in  the  tragedy,  to  be  again  received  into  the 
maw  of  its  voracious  host,  to  be  repurified  in  the 
strange  economy  of  a  spider's  structure,  to  emerge 
again  from  the  spinning-wheel  in  fine  transparent 
filaments,  to  be  woven  again  into  the  same  lovely 
texture,  and  to  repeat  day  after  day  the  same  eternal 
drama  that  fills  the  mind  with  such  enthusiasm  and 
admiration. 

Throughout  this  chapter  I  have  spoken  repeatedly 
of  the  perfection  of  the  snare.  And  this  is  true  in  a 
general   sense.      But   3.    closQ  observation    of   nature 


122       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIIMALAYA 

shows  us  that  in  the  ortranic  world  there  is  nothing 
really  perfect.  Even  in  the  structure  of  the  human 
eye  there  is  error  upon  error.  So  it  is  with  the  snare. 
Exquisite  as  is  its  workmanship,  it  is  not  in  the 
strictest  sense  geometrically  exact.  Careful  observa- 
tion will  detect  numerous  imperfections.  The  centre 
is  often  not  a  true  centre,  the  radii  diverge  from  an 
eccentric  point ;  the  radii,  first  thought  to  be  of  equal 
length,  are  found  to  be  unequal  ;  the  angles,  though 
approximating  closely,  all  slightly  differ ;  lines,  though 
in  apparent  parallel,  would  many  of  them  soon  meet. 
The  vision  of  the  whole  is  one  of  delicate  perfection  ; 
the  inspection  of  the  detail  reveals  minute  imperfec- 
tions. But  surely  this  does  not  diminish  our  wonder 
at  the  workmanship.  It  is  enlightening  to  see  the 
apparently  accurate  built  up  of  countless  error.  And 
the  errors  are  trivial.  Each,  no  doubt,  has  some 
reason  for  its  existence ;  though  each  to  our  eyes 
appears  a  fault,  yet  they  all  blend  in  harmony.  So 
it  is  all  through  organic  life.  Everywhere  in  nature, 
both  in  instinct  and  in  structure,  we  witness  imper- 
fection and  error.  Even  that  most  wonderful  and 
economical  of  instincts,  the  cell-building  of  the  honey- 
bee, is  far  from  really  perfect.  I  doubt  if  in  the 
whole  world  of  nature  there  exists  a  faultless  instinct 
or  a  perfect  structure.  But  few  structures  can  better 
claim  perfection  than  this  delicate  circular  snare. 

Such  is  the  construction,  such  the  destruction  of  a 
spider's  geometrical  snare.  This  is  the  architecture 
of  the  Araneus,  though  I  do  not  speak  for  the  rest  of 
the  Epeiridcs.  Strict  and  unswerving  mechanism  is 
the  secret  of  the  work,  not  only  of  its  accuracy  but 
of  its  beauty.     The  power  to  nieasure  is  the  guiding 


THE   GEOMETRICAL   SNARE  123 

instinct  that  underlies  the  mechanical  routine.  The 
spider  is  to  my  mind  the  more  wonderful  because 
it  is  mechanical,  because  it  works  on  the  strictest  plan. 
With  instincts  so  perfect  it  fashions  its  lovely  fabric. 
I  know  not  which  to  admire  in  it  the  more,  the 
geometrical  instinct  that  builds  it  up,  or  the  economy 
that  tears  it  down. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

THE    INSTINCT    OF    SPIDERS 

Spiders  and  weather — Force  of  instinct — Repair  of  web  -Experiments 
to  indicate  the  unswerving  force  of  instinct — Slavery  to  instinct — 
Transference  to  other  snares— Spider  not  entangled  in  its  own 
snare— Mode  of  escape — Protective  resemblance — Special  senses  of 
spiders. 

The  days  are  dark  and  dull.  Heavy  threatening 
clouds  rest  on  the  encircling  hills.  A  black  mass 
of  nimbus  hangs  over  half  the  sky,  enshrouding  the 
mountains  at  its  base,  and  high  in  the  zenith  breaking 
into  grey  ragged  fragments  that  seem  to  tell  of  the 
fury  behind.  Low  peals  of  thunder  issue  forth  and 
lightning  flickers  through  the  gloom.  The  sun  is 
setting,  and  its  rays  streaming  across  the  sky  penetrate 
the  dark  cloud.  A  bow  of  intense  brilliancy  appears 
through  the  threatening  vapour  with  every  hue  de- 
fined. Without  is  a  second  and  fainter  arch  reflecting 
in  inverse  order  the  clearer  colours  of  the  brighter 
bow.  Above  they  fade  into  the  lowering  sky  ;  beneath 
they  shine  firm  against  the  higher  hills  that  glow  with 
i.  dull  purple. 

There  is  little  need  to  visit  the  spiders  on  such  an 
evening  as  this.  Few  will  be  at  work.  For  the 
Arancus  understands  the  sio^ns  of  the  weather.  It 
will  not  spin  when  rain  threatens.  It  knows  that  the 
falling  drops  would  annihilate  its  work. 

To  find  the  Arancus  in  full  vigour  we  choos(^  a  dry 

124 


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a 

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^  T   -■**  ■        I  a 


THE   INSTINCT   OF   SPIDERS         125 

September  evening  as  the  sun  sinks  in  a  clear  and 
settled  sky.  A  few  snow-white  (locculi  of  cloud  rest 
lightly  on  the  wooded  hills  ;  a  gentle  haze  of  dust 
dims  the  further  peaks,  and  all  the  valleys  are  re- 
fulgent with  the  evening  light.  When  the  sun  dips 
behind  the  enclosing  ridge  the  spiders  are  most  busy 
at  their  work.  They  toil  while  the  hills  and  clouds 
change  their  hue  beneath  the  fast  declining  light. 
The  green  woods  turn  to  a  dull  purple,  the  white 
clouds  pass  into  a  faint  pink  or,  tinged  with  yellow, 
they  assume  a  golden  hue. 

On  such  an  evening  each  spider  is  busy  ;  all  are 
weaving  with  a  subtle  skill.  Filaments  of  inimitable 
texture  are  being  wafted  over  the  rippling  stream  ; 
ingenious  nets  are  being  spun  amidst  permanent 
foundation-lines,  and  snare  is  being  linked  to  snare. 
The  intricate  sheet  of  web  soon  spans  the  channel  in 
the  hill.  There  is  no  strife ;  all  work  in  perfect 
harmony.  By  sunset  the  fabric  is  woven.  Each 
little  architect  takes  its  station  at  the  centre  of  its 
web  and  there  awaits  the  entanglement  of  its  prey. 
Not  till  another  sunset  will  work  agrain  commence. 
In  the  meantime  insects  innumerable  will  be  captured  ; 
the  juice  will  be  sucked  from  their  bodies,  and  the 
spider  will  feed  in  peace  and  plenty. 

I  have  dwelt  so  long-  on  the  mechanism  of  con- 
struction,  that  I  will  now  say  something  of  the  motive 
instinct  on  which  all  this  work  depends.  At  first 
sight  the  work  of  the  spider  looks  like  the  act  of  an 
intelligent  being.  How  exquisite  is  all  its  harmony  ! 
The  precision  of  science  here  blends  with  the 
beauty  of  art.  Untiring  industry,  exact  method, 
faultless    accuracy,  inimitable    skill    raise   this    edifice 


126       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

of  mathematical  beauty.  It  mi^ht  be  a  work  of 
profound  wisdom  ;  the  product  of  a  calculating  mind 
measuring  angles,  estimating  areas,  tracing  with  skill 
the  geometrical  curve,  examining  tensions,  appreci- 
ating minute  imperfections,  halting,  reversing,  circling 
backward  as  perfection  may  require.  Is  this  pre- 
meditated design  ?  Are  spirals,  parallels,  angles, 
areas,  clearly  depicted  in  this  creature's  mind  to  make 
her  so  cunning  and  so  exact  an  architect  ?  Does  she 
fashion  the  beautiful  because  she  loves  beauty,  the 
accurate  because  she  loves  precision  ?  I  cannot  think 
so,  I  believe  the  spider  lives  in  total  ignorance. 
She  knows  naught  of  her  wondrous  work.  Its  beauty 
and  precision  are  both  lost  on  her.  Why  or  how  it 
is  made  she  cares  not.  She  is  as  oblivious  of  her 
spiral  filament  as  is  an  ammonite  of  its  spiral  shell. 
What  in  our  ignorance  we  call  instinct,  impels  her 
to  her  task.  She  must  work ;  she  knows  not  why, 
she  knows  not  how.  The  delicacy  of  her  silken 
threads,  the  perfection  of  her  workmanship,  gratify 
other  minds  than  hers.  Certain  acts  on  the  part 
of  the   spider  will   help  us  to  appreciate  this. 

First  of  all,  can  the  spider  repair  its  web?  If  so, 
then  it  can  claim  the  gift  of  intelligence.  For  to 
repair  an  injury  the  spider  must  appreciate  the  nature 
of  the  damage,  and  direct  its  action  to  a  definite 
premeditated  end.  One  evening  I  deliberately  injure 
a  snare.  I  excise  a  portion  of  three  adjoining  radii 
with  six  turns  of  the  viscid  spiral.  The  sides  of  the 
rent  are  drawn  apart  by  the  elasticity  of  the  web,  and 
a  hole  remains  through  which  three  or  four  fingers 
can  be  passed.  The  spider,  after  a  momentary  alarm, 
takes  no  further  notice.      It  patiently  awaits  its  prey. 


THE   INSTINCT   OF   SPIDERS  127 

No  attempt  at  repair  is  made  this  evening.      I    visit 
the  snare  the  following  morning.     The  spicier  is  still 
at  the  centre  ;  a  number  of  insects  are  strung  along 
the  filaments,  but   the  rent    still  remains.      Indeed  it 
is  enlarged,  for  the  snare  is  here  weakened  and  gives 
way  further  before  the  strain.     The  fact  remains  that 
there  is  no  attempt   to   repair  the   damage.      This   a 
spider  cannot  do.      It  cannot  seek  out  the  ends  of  its 
severed  radii  and  connect  them  with  new  filaments  ; 
it  cannot  pick  up  the  points  of  its  damaged  spiral  and 
join  them  with  new  lines.      I   do  not  believe  it   can 
even  contemplate,   far  less    appreciate,  the   nature   of 
the  ruin.      Such   an   act   as  this   is    outside   its  daily 
work.      It  can  build  up  and  it  can  tear  down,  but  to 
repair  a  broken  filament  is  beyond  its  feeble  mind. 

Once  the  work  of  construction  is  over  the  sole  duty 
of  the  spider  is  to  sit  at  the  centre  of  its  snare  and 
await  the  entanglement  of  insects.  Injury  to  the 
architecture  is  then  of  no  concern  to  the  spider. 
When  evening  approaches  the  fabric  will  be  renewed. 
The  instinct  to  reconstruct  will  then  impel  the  archi- 
tect to  work  ;  but  till  that  hour  arrives  it  feels  no 
impulse  but  to  sit  and  wait. 

Let  us  consider  the  spider  engaged  in  the  con- 
struction of  its  snare.  Is  it  then  in  the  same  sub- 
jection to  its  instincts  as  when  it  sits  patiently  waiting 
for  its  food  ?  It  is  fulfilling  a  complex  and  difficult 
duty.  It  is  performing  each  act  with  mathematical 
precision.  It  is  building  up  a  fragile  and  harmonious 
texture,  and  every  thread  must  be  in  place  or  the  final 
symmetry  will  be  lost.  Through  all  this  delicate 
workmanship  is  the  spider  an  intelligent  agent  or  only 
an  unconscious  tool  ?      Has  it  any   power   to  modify 


128       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

the  nature  or  perfection  of  Its  fabric,  or  is  it  but  a 
slave  to  an  instinctive  guide?  Can  it  see  anything 
of  the  final  beauty,  or  Is  it  ignorant  of  all  Its  work? 
Experiment  will  show.  If  I  alter  a  snare  so  as 
to  place  difficulties  before  the  spider,  can  the  spider 
appreciate  what  has  occurred  and,  by  some  simple 
device,  remedy  the  defect?  I  find  a  web  partially 
constructed  which  the  spider  Is  busy  bringing  to  a 
state  of  completion.  The  temporary  spiral  has  been 
laid  down  and  seven  turns  of  the  viscid  spiral.  The 
completion  of  the  latter  Is  the  earnest  duty  of  the 
spider.  It  is  moving  from  spoke  to  spoke,  using  the 
outer  turn  of  the  temporary  spiral  as  a  bridge  by 
which  to  cross  over.  With  a  sharp  pair  of  scissors  I 
gently  divide  the  bridge  between  two  of  the  spokes. 
The  spider  circles  on.  It  comes  round  again  and 
meets  the  broken  bridge.  It  shows  some  hesitation  but 
does  not  interrupt  Its  work  ;  it  continues  inward  till 
It  meets  the  second  turn  of  the  temporary  spiral  and 
there  crosses  over.  I  have  destroyed  the  spider's 
bridge.  It  has  to  pursue  a  longer  journey  at  each 
circuit.  It  is  obvious  by  Its  hesitation  that  it  feels 
something  to  be  at  fault.  The  remedy  is  clear  ; 
another  filament  should  be  run  across  and  a  new 
bridge  formed.  It  is  the  simple  work  of  a  moment, 
but  the  spider  will  not  do  It.  It  prefers  to  continue 
its  longer  round  and  cross  by  the  inner  bridge.  I 
now  divide  the  second  turn  of  the  temporary  spiral 
in  the  same  segment.  The  spider  again  takes  no 
notice,  but  crosses  over  by  the  third  turn.  I  divide 
the  third  turn  and  the  spider  crosses  by  the  fourth. 
I  divide  the  fourth  turn  and  the  spider  has  now  to 
continue  to  the  very  centre  of  the  snare  before  it  can 


THE   INSTINCT   OF   SPIDERS  129 

cross  over.  It  has  to  perform  fully  three  times  as  long 
a  journey  and  pay  out  three  times  as  much  line  to 
complete  the  spiral  in  this  segment  than  in  any  other 
segment,  yet  the  spider  works  mechanically  on.  The 
journey,  the  labour,  the  confusion  of  the  spider  have 
all  been  increased.  A  single  filament  for  a  bridge 
and  the  work  might  continue  as  before,  but  the  spider 
cannot  see  this.  It  made  many  bridges  a  few  minutes 
before ;  it  cannot  make  a  single  bridge  now.  The 
reason  is  clear  ;  the  time  for  bridge-making  was  before 
the  commencement  of  the  viscid  spiral.  In  this  snare 
seven  turns  of  the  viscid  spiral  are  complete,  and 
therefore  the  spider  cannot  build  a  bridge  now. 

I  continue  the  experiment.  In  one  segment  there 
are  no  bridges  and  the  spider  must  continue  to  the 
centre  of  the  snare  in  order  to  cross  over.  I  now 
cut  carefully  across  the  centre,  so  that  the  spider  in 
order  to  complete  the  segment  will  have  to  pass 
the  centre  and  cross  over  by  the  temporary  spiral 
of  the  opposite  side.  Even  this  does  not  move  the 
spider  to  repair.  It  continues  to  perform  its  long 
journey  over  the  damaged  web,  cross  at  every  circle 
to  the  bridge  on  the  opposite  side  in  order  to  complete 
the  spiral  in  that  segment.  The  snare  has  by  now 
lost  almost  all  trace  of  its  beautiful  regularity  ;  the 
spokes  which  bound  the  divided  threads  have  separated 
to  a  hand's  breadth,  while  those  on  either  side  have 
approximated  to  the  width  of  a  linger ;  that  perfect 
parallelism  in  the  spiral  coils  is  lost ;  threads  adhere  to 
one  another  ;  in  the  narrowed  segments  they  hang  down 
slack  ;  in  the  wide  segments  they  are  tense  to  break- 
ing point ;  the  radial  symmetry  has  become  shapeless  ; 
the  snare  is  held  in  an  uneven  strain  and  it  no  longer 

K 


130       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

has  a  centre.  Yet  the  spicier  works  mechanically  on. 
How  blind  is  this  instinct  that  impels  the  spider  in 
this  course  !  A  single  bridge  would  improve  matters  ; 
it  could  not  remedy  them  now,  for  the  damage  is  too 
great.  But  it  is  all  the  same  to  the  spider.  To 
construct  a  bridge  now  is  far  beyond  its  mental  power  ; 
it  can  only  circle  mechanically  on.  I  was  amazed  to 
think  that  a  creature  could  be  compelled  by  such  a 
blind  unswerving  instinct  to  circle  round  and  round 
the  formless  web,  and  driven  by  so  unalterable  a 
mental  stimulus  to  weave  such  a  shapeless  and 
imperfect  structure. 

I  modified  the  experiment  in  different  ways.  I 
divided  the  outer  bridges  in  two  adjoining  segments, 
but  the  spider  crossed  over  by  the  second  line  of 
bridges.  I  divided  all  the  outer  bridges  in  all  the 
segments,  and  the  spider  crossed  by  the  second  circle 
of  bridges.  I  have  no  doubt  that  if  I  had  removed 
the  second  circle,  then  the  spider  would  have  used  the 
third  circle  ;  or  if  I  had  removed  the  third  circle,  then 
it  would  have  used  the  fourth  circle  ;  but  what  it  never 
would  have  done  was  to  construct  a  new  bridge. 

But  one  experiment  will  include  all.  I  found  a 
snare  with  twenty-one  radii  and  a  temporary  spiral  of 
six  turns.  The  spider  had  commenced  the  viscid 
spiral  and  five  turns  were  complete.  I  removed  the 
whole  of  the  temporary  spiral  in  every  segment.  That 
is,  I  divided  126  possible  bridges,  so  that  the  spider 
had  now  no  bridge  left  in  any  segment.  It  must  either 
build  new  bridges  or  continue  right  into  the  centre  at 
every  passage  from  radius  to  radius.  It  must  either 
go  back  on  its  work  or  face  tremendous  obstacles. 
What    will   the   spider   do   now?      Its    difficulties    are 


THE   INSTINCT   OF   SPIDERS  131 

acute.  All  its  bridores  are  o;one.  The  radii  are  slack 
from  the  loss  of  the  scaffold ;  they  now  wave  and 
tremble  in  the  air.  If  the  spider  can  appreciate  any- 
thing of  the  precision  of  its  work,  it  must  do  something 
now. 

At  first  it  is  alarmed  and  hurries  away  to  the  edge 
of  its  snare.  I  can  divide  two,  three  or  four  turns 
while  the  spider  continues  in  its  course,  but  I  cannot 
remove  the  whole  spiral.  In  twenty  minutes  the 
spider  returns.  It  again  takes  up  its  work,  the  con- 
tinuation of  the  viscid  spiral.  It  meets  with  immediate 
trouble.  It  can  find  no  bridge  ;  it  moves  with  difficulty 
along  the  slackened  radii  ;  its  confusion  is  clear.  But 
it  makes  no  attempt  to  remedy  the  damage,  no  effort 
to  lay  a  new  bridge.  Into  the  centre  it  travels  at 
every  segment  except  where  the  slack  radii  fall  close 
together,  when  it  can  step  across  from  radius  to  radius. 
Great  disorder  follows  in  its  architecture.  The  loose 
radii  confuse  its  sense  of  tension  ;  the  little  tags  of 
filament  perplex  it  and  it  anchors  its  line  in  the  wrong 
place.  All  its  attachments  are  out  of  order  ;  radii  are 
glued  to  radii ;  parallelism  is  completely  lost.  Con- 
struction continues,  but  the  snare  rapidly  develops 
into  a  hopeless  tangle.  Yet  the  spider  is  satisfied. 
It  still  makes  no  effort  to  place  new  bridges  between 
its  radii.  It  cannot  go  back  on  its  old  work  ;  it  is 
bound  to  its  routine.  A  few  turns  of  a  temporary  spiral 
would  solve  its  difficulties,  but  this  the  spider  is  quite 
unable  to  effect.  It  would  mean  the  commencement 
of  the  routine  at  some  other  point,  while  there  is  only 
one  point  at  which  the  spider  can  commence,  and  that 
is  the  point  at  which  the  routine  was  broken.  Still 
the   spider  labours  on.      Its   difficulties    overcome   it. 


132       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

Hesitating  and  perplexed,  it  works  backwards  and 
forwards  from  the  centre  to  the  circumference  in  the 
struggle  to  lay  down  its  viscid  spiral.  The  slack  radii 
make  it  continually  reverse  where  there  should  be  no 
reverse.  Aimlessly  it  gropes  with  its  fore  leg,  seeking 
for  the  spiral  to  guide  its  measurements.  It  either 
touches  nothing  or,  if  it  finds  a  filament,  an  attachment 
follows,  usually  in  the  wrong  place.  The  difficulties 
of  the  spider  increase  at  every  turn,  and  greater  con- 
fusion follows  in  its  architecture.  But  it  persists  in  its 
one  duty,  the  only  duty  it  can  then  perform,  the 
construction  of  its  viscid  spiral.  At  length  it  ceases; 
its  duty  done.  Satisfied  that  all  is  well,  it  seats  itself 
at  the  centre  of  the  snare  surrounded  by  the  hopeless 
tangle  of  its  lines. 

How  blind  is  the  instinct  that  impels  a  spider  in  this 
fruitless  course  !  All  the  snare  needs  is  a  few  bridges 
to  stiffen  the  radii  and  allow  the  spider  to  pass  over. 
But  the  spider  neither  sees  it  nor  knows  it.  It  under- 
stands nothing  of  its  architecture.  Each  step  must 
follow  the  preceding  step.  Each  act  has  its  determined 
sequence.  The  spider  works  unknowingly,  driven  by 
the  clear,  cold  logic  of  events.  At  the  obedience  of 
an  unswerving-  force  it  strugfofles  in  its  unconscious 
duty.  Its  instinct  tells  it  that  when  at  work  on  its 
viscid  spiral  it  must  continue  till  its  viscid  spiral  is 
complete.  This  instinct  the  spider  implicitly  obeys, 
thoug^h  it  leads  it  to  confusion. 

I  will  mention  a  few  more  experiments  to  indicate 
the  blind  instinct  by  which  the  spider  is  controlled. 
I  found  a  snare  of  Araneus  najitictis  in  which  six 
turns  of  the  viscid  spiral  were  complete.  The  spider 
was  busy  continuing  the  work.      It  was  monotonously 


THE   INSTINCT   OF   SPIDERS  133 

circling  round  the  snare,  crossing  from  radius  to  radius 
and  attaching  the  viscid  spiral  to  each  radius  in  its  pas- 
sage. I  divided  one  radius  immediately  after  the  spider 
had  attached  to  it  the  spiral.  The  spider  circled  on.  It 
aofain  came  round  to  the  severed  radius.  The  radius 
being  gone,  the  spider  found  before  it  a  segment  twice 
the  normal  width.  It  had  to  cross  over  two  bridges 
instead  of  one,  extend  a  line  twice  the  previous  length, 
as  it  had  now  to  span  two  segments  with  the  one  line. 
Nevertheless,  the  spider  did  not  seem  confused.  It 
made  no  attempt  to  replace  the  radius,  but  kept 
straight  on.  I  then  divided  a  second  and  adjoining 
radius  so  that  the  spider  had  to  perform  three  times 
the  journey  and  bridge  a  gap  three  times  as  wide  as 
was  required  in  the  uninjured  segments,  yet  the  spider 
worked  on.  I  divided  a  third  and  adjoining  radius, 
subsequently  a  fourth,  but  still  the  spider  continued  its 
monotonous  circuit.  It  made  no  attempt  at  any  repair, 
but  kept  blindly  to  its  routine.  On  severing  a  fifth 
radius,  the  bridge  in  the  temporary  spiral  over  which 
the  spider  crossed  had  not  only  become  six  times  the 
normal  length,  but  also  so  loose  and  slack  that  the  spider 
found  some  difficulty  in  passing  over  it.  The  spider 
clearly  felt  something  was  wrong  ;  it  checked  its  course 
round  and  round  the  snare  ;  it  hesitated,  ran  back- 
wards along  the  lengthened  bridge  searching  vainly 
with  its  legs  for  the  broken  radii.  A  few  new  spokes 
would  solve  its  difficulties,  nothing  else  was  required, 
yet  the  spider  could  not  do  it.  It  made  no  attempt  at 
any  repair,  but  again  continued  the  circuit.  I  divided 
a  sixth  radius.  The  bridge  was  now  very  slack  and 
the  spider  very  discomfited  during  the  crossing.  It 
was  most  amusing  to  see  the  little  creature  sweeping 


134       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

its  Ici;'  through  the  air  seeking  for  the  lost  radii. 
Nevertheless,  it  still  circled  on.  A  seventh  radius  was 
divided,  so  that  now  almost  half  the  radii  in  the  snare 
had  been  severed,  and  all  were  adjoining  radii.  The 
bridge  was  now  eight  times  the  normal  length,  and 
the  space  across  which  the  viscid  thread  had  to  be 
drawn  was  eight  times  the  normal  width.  Neverthe- 
less, the  spider  struggled  on  in  the  same  mechanical 
routine  until  the  division  of  the  seventh  radius  made 
its  difficulties  acute.  The  bridge  was  now  so  slack 
that  the  spider  could  scarcely  cross  it,  and  I  could 
almost  have  put  my  fist  into  the  vacant  space  in  the 
snare.  The  bridge  was  almost  im|)assable,  yet  the 
spider  persisted  in  its  blind  circuit,  adhering  rigidly  to 
its  routine. 

Instinct  is  the  guiding  factor  of  a  spider's  life  ;  it  is 
instinct  that  compels  it  in  the  same  undeviating  course. 
Introduce  difficulties  in  its  circuit,  raise  increasing 
barriers  to  oppose  the  instinctive  progress,  build  up 
obstructions  to  impede  the  blind  routine,  and  the  spider 
can  do  nothing  to  overcome  them  ;  it  can  only  struggle 
in  its  course.  It  can  appreciate  none  of  these  difficul- 
ties ;  it  can  understand  none  of  these  obstacles  ;  all  it 
can  do  is  but  circle  on. 

Another  experiment  leads  us  to  a  similar  result, 
that  the  spider  knows  nothing  of  its  work.  A  snare 
of  the  Aranezis  was  under  construction.  Four  turns 
of  the  viscid  spiral  were  complete.  In  one  segment 
between  two  radii  I  divided  the  spiral  as  fast  as  it  was 
laid  down.  Thus,  with  the  exception  of  the  four  turns 
that  existed  before  I  commenced  the  experiment,  no 
other  filaments  were  allowed  to  remain  in  that  segment. 
The   spider  circled   round   and    round    weaving    with 


THE   INSTINCT   OF   SPIDERS  135 

accuracy  its  viscid  spiral.  Beautiful  parallel  lines  were 
stretched  across  every  segment  except  the  experi- 
mental segment.  In  this  segment  was  a  vacant  space, 
for  I  there  divided  the  line  as  fast  as  the  spider  laid  it. 
But  the  spider  could  not  appreciate  this,  though  every 
time  it  crossed  the  segment  it  found  that  its  measuring 
line  was  lost.  It  worked  unheeded.  Twenty-eight 
times  it  drew  a  line  across  the  experimental  segment 
and  twenty-eight  times  I  severed  it.  The  spider  could 
not  recognize  that,  although  it  was  bridging  this 
segment  again  and  again,  yet  it  was  constructing  no 
network.  It  circled  on,  ever  diminishing  the  circum- 
ference of  its  spiral  as  it  drew  nearer  to  the  centre. 
Finally  it  sealed  off  the  end  of  the  spiral  and  ran  away 
to  the  centre  to  wait  for  entangled  insects.  The  spider 
was  satisfied.  Without  doubt  it  believed,  that  it  had 
constructed  a  perfect  snare  and  was  quite  oblivious  of 
the  fact  that  one  whole  segment  was  almost  entirely 
absent. 

That  the  spider  is  a  slave  to  its  own  instinct,  that 
it  is  able  to  recommence  its  work  only  at  the  point 
where  the  instinctive  round  is  broken,  can  be  still 
further  exemplified.  I  discovered  a  snare  with  the 
spider  busy  at  its  work.  Ten  turns  of  the  viscid  spiral 
were  complete.  I  divided  all  the  turns  of  the  viscid 
spiral  right  round  the  snare  so  that  only  the  hub,  the 
radii  and  the  temporary  spiral  remained  attached  to 
the  foundation-lines.  My  interference  disturbed  the 
spider  and  it  hurried  away  to  the  edge  of  the  snare. 
I  wished  to  know  what  it  would  do  on  its  return.  It 
would  find  a  snare  with  a  hub,  radii  and  temporary 
spiral,  but  with  no  viscid  spiral.  What  will  it  do  .-^ 
Will    it   commence    to    lay    down    a   spiral    from    the 


13G       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

beginning,  or  will  it  take  up  its  work  where  it  left  off, 
that  is  at  the  eleventh  turn  ?  The  spider  recovered 
from  its  alarm  and  resumed  its  work.  Without  hesi- 
tation it  proceeded  to  where  it  had  left  off.  It  neg- 
lected to  replace  all  the  ten  turns  that  I  had  divided. 
It  commenced  its  work  at  the  eleventh  turn,  and  thus 
constructed  little  more  than  half  a  snare.  It  seemed 
quite  contented  with  the  structure,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
would  have  considered  it  as  excellent  a  snare  as  it  had 
ever  formed. 

That  the  spider  cannot  go  back  on  its  work  still 
another  experiment  will  show.  A  snare  has  just  been 
completed.  The  viscid  spiral  has  been  sealed  off  and 
the  spider  has  taken  its  post  at  the  centre  to  lie  in  wait 
for  insects.  I  divide  the  whole  of  the  spiral  in  every 
segment.  The  snare  now  consists  of  a  centre,  radii 
and  foundation-lines,  but  it  no  longer  has  a  spiral. 
The  force  of  instinct  had  just  been  fulfilled,  and  I 
wondered  if  the  spider  could  start  again  on  its  routine 
and  build  up  a  new  snare.  The  spider  was  unequal 
to  the  task.  The  reflex  round  was  over,  and  not  for 
twenty-four  hours  would  the  spider  move  to  work 
again.  It  took  up  its  post  amidst  the  bare  diverging 
radii.  I  do  not  believe  it  even  had  the  power  to 
appreciate  that  any  damage  had  been  done.  Till  dark 
I  watched  it  solemnly  waiting  for  insects  that  were 
never  captured,  for  the  snare  no  longer  had  a  network. 

Fulfil  the  predestined  plan  is  the  doctrine  of  a 
spider's  life.  Not  one  can  look  back  upon  its  woven 
chain  nor  retrace  the  slender  links  of  architecture. 
The  work  is  done  ;  it  cannot  be  done  again.  The 
snare  has  vanished  ;  the  naked  spokes  remain.  But 
to  the  spider's  mind  the  net  is  perfect,  and  relentless 


THE   INSTINCT   OF   SPIDERS  137 

instinct  is  fully  satisfied.  It  cannot  for  an  instant  con- 
template its  handiwork  and  witness  the  utter  ruin. 
Reconstruction  now  is  impossible.  Another  day  must 
pass  before  the  instinctive  fire  rekindles  and  the  spider 
feels  the  call  to  work. 

I  recalled  in  these  connections  the  ingenious  and 
oft-described  experiment  of  P.  Huber.  He  discovered 
a  caterpillar  which  made  "  by  a  succession  of  processes 
a  very  complicated  hammock  for  its  metamorphosis  ; 
and  he  found  that  if  he  took  a  caterpillar  which  had 
completed  its  hammock  up  to,  say,  the  sixth  stage  of 
construction,  and  put  it  into  a  hammock  completed  up 
only  to  the  third  stage,  the  caterpillar  did  not  seem 
puzzled,  but  repeated  the  fourth,  fifth  and  sixth  stages 
of  construction.  If,  however,  a  caterpillar  was  taken 
out  of  a  hammock  made  up,  for  instance,  to  the  third 
stage,  and  put  into  one  finished  to  the  ninth  stage,  so 
that  much  of  its  work  was  done  for  it,  far  from  feeling 
the  benefit  of  this,  it  was  much  embarrassed,  and  even 
forced  to  go  over  the  already  finished  work,  starting 
from  the  third  stage  which  it  had  left  off  before  it 
could  complete  its  hammock."  The  rhythm  of  the 
caterpillar's  instinct  was  so  mechanical ;  the  creature 
was  in  such  abject  slavery  to  its  routine,  that  once  the 
rhythm  was  broken  it  could  only  recommence  at  the 
point  where  the  break  took  place,  even  though  it 
might  greatly  benefit  by  commencing  somewhere  else. 

It  is  very  similar  in  the  case  of  the  rhythm  of  a 
spider's  instinct.  The  spider  in  the  snare  of  ten  turns 
is  unable,  after  all  the  turns  are  destroyed,  to  commence 
in  any  other  place  than  at  the  eleventh  turn  ;  the  spider 
in  the  snare  without  any  temporary  spiral  continues  to 
struggle  on  with  its  work,  but  is  unable  to  reconstruct 


138       A   NATURALIST   IN    HIMALAYA 

a  brido^e  ;  and  the  spider  that  has  come  to  the  end  of 
its  instinctive  round  by  the  completion  of  its  viscid 
spiral  is  unable  to  commence  again.  Thus  the  spider 
is,  like  Huber's  caterpillar,  a  slave  to  its  own  instinct. 
In  a  beautiful  mechanical  rhythm  it  toils  onward  in  its 
daily  task  ;  but  break  that  rhythm  and  the  whole  chain 
of  action  is  disturbed,  and  the  only  place  at  which  the 
spider  can  again  take  up  the  thread  of  its  motion  is 
the  place  at  which  the  rhythm  was  broken.  As  in  a 
machine  each  movement  follows  another  movement  in 
an  unalterable  sequence,  so  do  the  far  more  complex 
motions  of  a  spider's  life  follow  one  on  the  other  in  a 
long  ceaseless  rhythm. 

If  we  learn  anything  from  these  experiments,  it  is 
how  feeble  are  the  mental  powers  of  the  Arancus. 
He  who  studies  for  the  first  time  the  subtle  device  of 
a  circular  snare  is  full  of  wonder  at  the  skill  of  the 
contrivance.  He  who  watches  for  the  first  time  the 
work  of  construction  is  amazed  at  the  ingenuity  of 
the  architect.  r3ut  this  is  a  false  impression.  There 
is  no  skill,  no  ingenuity  in  the  sense  that  man  would 
use  it.  There  is  little  credit  to  the  spider  ;  at  least  to 
the  workings  of  its  mind.  It  is  ignorant  of  all  it  does. 
It  can  neither  reflect  on  its  past  nor  take  thought  for 
its  future.  It  must  act  at  any  moment  in  accordance 
as  its  instinct  tells  it.  It  must  fulfil  each  step  in  its 
architecture  independent  of  any  choice.  It  knows  not 
why  or  how  it  does  it,  nor  can  it  do  aught  else.  It 
cannot  go  back  one  inch  in  its  construction.  The  spider 
is  an  automaton.  It  learns  little  if  anything  from 
experience ;  all  its  knowledge  is  innate.  A  definite 
sequence  of  events  must  follow  and  the  spider  must 
obey    each   step    in   the   sequence.     To   ponder   over 


THE   INSTINCT   OF   SPIDERS  139 

those  events  or  to  alter  a  sincrle  link  in  the  lonor  chain 
of  action  is  far  beyond  the  simple  mind  of  the  Arancus. 

I  pass  now  to  another  question.  How  will  geo- 
metrical spiders  behave  when  their  snares  are  inter- 
changed? The  snare  of  an  Araneiis  is  made  with  such 
precision  ;  each  line  is  so  accurately  measured  by  some 
portion  of  the  spider's  body  that  I  fancy  the  complete 
structure  is  specially  adapted  to  the  movements  of  its 
owner.  If  we  take  a  spider  from  a  snare  and  place  it  on 
another  snare,  we  see  that  the  movements  of  the  spider 
are  more  difficult  in  the  new  snare,  and  it  often  injures 
the  fabric  in  its  progress.  The  intricacies  of  the  new 
snare  are  not  suited  to  this  spider.  Each  is  best  fitted 
to  the  product  of  its  own  precision. 

But  a  spider  will  often  rest  content  with  a  snare 
other  than  its  own.  I  interchange  two  Aranei,  placing 
each  on  the  other's  web.  They  are  first  scared,  hasten 
away  to  the  foundation-lines,  but,  taking  confidence 
after  some  twenty  minutes,  return  to  the  centre. 
There  they  wait.  They  grow  restless  ;  they  test  the 
radii  with  their  fore  limbs,  vibrate  the  snare,  make 
short  explorations  towards  the  circumference  as  though 
dissatisfied  with  their  homes.  Soon  confidence  in- 
creases ;  they  remain  passive  at  the  centre  and  seldom 
stir  from  the  resting-place  unless  to  seize  an  entangled 
prey.  They  are  satisfied  with  the  exchange.  Each  is 
probably  quite  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  it  is  not  in  its 
own  snare. 

I  make  a  more  marked  exchange.  I  place  an 
Aranezis  in  the  snare  of  a  Tetraznatha  and  a  Tetra- 
gnat  ha  in  that  of  an  Aranetis.  What  will  happen  now  ? 
The  snares  are  more  dissimilar.  One  is  horizontal, 
the  other  vertical.     The  spiral  of  the  Araneus  is  closely 


140       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

wound,  that  of  the  Tctra^^natha  more  wide  apart. 
The  one  is  a  narrow,  the  other  a  wide-meshed  net. 
The  spiders  themselves  equally  differ.  Araneus  is  a 
stout,  compact,  globular  little  creature  with  short  quiver- 
ing limbs  and  hasty  in  all  its  motions.  Tetragnatha,  on 
the  other  hand,  is  a  narrow  elongated  spider,  with 
limbs  disproportionately  long  and  slender  and,  in  its 
circles,  moves  with  apparent  method  and  precision. 
Each  has  just  finished  the  construction  of  its  snare.  I 
make  the  interchange.  At  first  there  is  the  usual 
alarm,  but  soon  the  spiders  settle  in  their  new  abodes. 
They  accept  the  unnatural  conditions  and  are  satisfied. 

When  I  found  that  the  Araneus  accepted  the  snare 
of  the  Tctragiiatha  and  the  Tetragnatha  that  of  the 
Ara7iezis,  I  imagined  that  a  geometrical  spider  had  little 
choice  in  this  matter  and  was  content  with  any  snare. 
But  this  proved  to  be  a  false  opinion. 

I  interchanged  spiders  when  employed  in  their 
architecture.  I  took  a  Tetragnatha  from  a  snare  in 
which  seventeen  turns  of  the  viscid  spiral  were 
complete  and  transferred  it  to  a  very  similar  snare  of 
an  Araneus  in  which  only  two  turns  were  complete. 
I  expected  the  work  to  continue  in  the  new  snare, 
but  in  all  likelihood  with  greater  difficulty.  I  was 
mistaken.  After  a  period  of  hesitation  which  lasted 
for  about  ten  minutes,  the  spider  commenced  to  explore 
its  new  surroundings.  It  repeatedly  shook  the  web  as 
though  it  were  discovering  the  direction  in  which  the 
main  foundations  lay.  It  moved  all  over  the  network. 
It  examined  closely  the  radii,  the  temporary  spiral, 
measured  all  the  numerous  intervals  and  made  itselt 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  complexity  of  the  new 
snare.      But  it  remained  unsatisfied.      It  refused  to  sit 


THE   INSTINCT   OF   SPIDERS  141 

in  patience  at  the  centre.  It  set  about  to  demolish  the 
snare.  It  moved  out  along  each  radius  eating  up  the 
fabric  in  its  progress.  Methodically  it  worked  until 
it  had  devoured  all.  When  the  snare  had  been  com- 
pletely destroyed  with  the  exception  of  the  foundation- 
lines  the  spider  then  took  up  the  work  of  construction. 
It  began  to  lay  a  new  snare  in  the  foundations  of 
its  alien  predecessor. 

The  Armieus,  which  I  removed  from  the  snare 
completed  up  to  two  turns,  I  placed  in  that  of  the 
Tetragnatha  completed  up  to  seventeen  turns.  Now 
this  was  an  advantage  to  the  Araneiis.  The  new  snare 
was  more  complete.  Much  of  the  work  had  been  done 
by  the  Tetragnatha  that  it  had  replaced.  If  the  Ara- 
neus'yx^l  continued  the  work  and  brought  the  snare  to  a 
completion,  it  would  gain  much  by  the  expenditure  of 
less  silk.  But  I  felt  sure  that  the  spider  could  not  do 
this.  It  first  explored  the  snare.  Then,  unsatisfied 
with  the  exchange,  it  behaved  like  the  Teti'-agnatha  in 
the  previous  experiment  ;  it  ate  up  the  whole  snare. 
All  the  new  radii,  all  the  complete  bridges,  the 
seventeen  turns  of  the  viscid  spiral,  just  newly  spun, 
were  systematically  destroyed.  In  this  instance  the 
spider  was  in  a  position  to  gain  by  the  transfer.  But 
it  was  unable  to  reap  any  advantage  from  the  half- 
completed  work.  It  must  commence  again  from  the 
very  beginning. 

Similarly  have  I  transferred  Araneus  nautiais  while 
engaged  on  construction,  to  another  snare  of  its  own 
species.  I  have  sometimes  seen  it  rest  satisfied  with 
the  transfer  and  resume  the  work,  but  often  it  de- 
stroyed the  snare.  I  am  unable  to  understand  why  a 
spider  sometimes  accepts  and  sometimes  rejects  a  new 


142       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

snare.  It  is  not  necessarily  the  snare  that  looks  the 
most  unsuitable  and  different  from  its  own  that  the 
spider  will  destroy,  for  an  Araiieiis  may  accept  the 
snare  of  a  Telragnatha.  I  have  a  note  that  points  to 
some  other  cause.  I  once  removed  a  spider  from  its 
half-constructed  snare  and,  after  a  lapse  of  five  minutes, 
replaced  it  again  on  its  own  snare.  I  saw  no  reason 
why  this  spider  should  not  continue  the  work  of 
construction,  commencing  again  where  it  had  left  off. 
But  it  did  not  act  as  I  had  thought.  It  did  not  seem 
to  recognize  its  own  property.  It  first  tested  and 
examined  the  fabric  on  every  side.  Then,  after  a 
thorough  exploration,  it  gobbled  up  the  whole  structure 
and  commenced  to  weave  a  new  snare.  What  can  we 
say  of  a  creature  that  cannot  recognize  the  features  of 
its  own  work ! 

The  problem  as  to  why  a  spider  does  not  become 
entangled  in  its  own  snare  was  solved  by  the  inimitable 
skill  of  M.  Fabre.  The  only  adhesive  portion  of  the 
structure  is  the  viscid  spiral ;  none  of  the  other  lines 
have  any  tenacious  power.  This  is  well  displayed  in 
spring.  At  that  season  clouds  of  pollen  float  down- 
ward from  the  pines,  filling  the  air  with  a  fine  yellow  dust. 
Innumerable  grains  fall  upon  the  snare  and  adhere  to 
its  sticky  lines.  The  viscid  and  non-viscid  filaments 
appear  in  distinct  contrast.  The  radii,  the  hub,  the 
temporary  spiral,  the  foundation-lines  are  all  un- 
changed, but  the  viscid  spiral  is  transformed  into  a 
continuous  golden  line. 

I  repeated  some  of  the  simple  but  ingenious  ex- 
periments of  M.  Fabre,  conceived  for  the  purpose  of 
discovering  why  the  spider  did  not  adhere  to  its  own 
viscid  spiral.      I  touched  the  various  parts  of  the  snare 


THE   INSTINCT   OF   SPIDERS  143 

with  a  clean  glass  rod.  The  radii,  the  hub,  the 
temporary  spiral,  the  foundation-lines  were  non-viscid  ; 
the  viscid  spiral  alone  adhered  to  the  glass  rod.  I 
then  smeared  the  rod  with  a  thin  layer  of  oil  and  found 
that  the  viscid  spiral  adhered  more  feebly  to  the  rod 
when  smeared  with  oil  than  when  it  was  quite  dry.  I 
used  a  spider's  leg  in  place  of  the  glass  rod.  It  did 
not  adhere  to  the  viscid  spiral,  but  after  moistening  it 
thoroughly  with  benzene  so  as  to  dissolve  away  any 
oily  coating,  the  leg  immediately  adhered  to  the  viscid 
spiral.  From  experiments  similar  to  these  M.  Fabre 
has  discovered  that  it  is  the  possession  of  an  oily 
coating  which  prevents  the  geometrical  spider  from 
becoming  entangled  in  its  own  web. 

A  spider,  I  think,  uses  as  far  as  possible  the  non- 
viscid  radii  during  its  movements  in  the  snare,  but  this 
is  not  due  to  the  fact  that  it  would  stick  to  the  spiral, 
for  I  covered  all  the  radii  of  a  perfect  snare  with  a 
thick  coat  of  adhesive  gum  and  the  spider  was  well 
able  to  run  backwards  and  forwards  along"  them. 

Spiders  other  than  geometrical  spiders  become 
entangled  in  the  circular  snare.  They  do  not  possess 
the  oily  coat  so  essential  to  the  Epeiridce.  I  took  a 
species  of  Hippasa  which  constructs  a  non-viscid  plat- 
form on  which  insects  become  entangled  but  to  which 
they  do  not  adhere.  I  placed  the  Hippasa  on  a 
circular  snare.  It  was  quite  as  helpless  as  any  fly  ;  it 
did  not  attempt  to  creep  over  the  snare,  but  was 
immediately  entrapped.  Moreover,  its  surface  could 
not  have  possessed  any  fine  coating  of  oil,  for  its  legs 
adhered  to  the  viscid  spiral.  Thus  it  is  clear  that 
geometrical  spiders  are  perfectly  adapted  to  move  over 
the  glutinous  filaments  of  their  webs. 


144       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

Some  facts  may  be  of  interest  regarding  the  general 
habits  of  these  spiders.  When  suddenly  alarmed  they 
behave  in  different  ways.  If  the  alarm  is  slight  and 
the  Araneus  is  at  work  on  its  snare,  it  immediately 
stops  and  remains  perfectly  motionless.  If  the  alarm 
is  greater,  it  hurries  away  from  the  scene  of  its  labour 
and  takes  up  a  position  in  the  centre  of  the  snare 
from  where  it  can  move  in  any  direction  to  attack  the 
invader.  If  terrified,  the  spider  deserts  its  snare, 
hastens  away  along  a  foundation-line  and  takes  its 
stand  beneath  a  sheltering  blade  of  grass.  Often, 
when  two  spiders  are  working  in  close  proximity,  the 
foundation-lines  of  the  two  snares  may  cross  one 
another  or  may  be  attached  to  the  same  object. 
Under  these  conditions  the  spider  of  one  snare  some- 
times invades  the  other  snare.  The  owner  of  the 
latter  immediately  recognizes  the  invasion,  turns  in 
the  direction  of  the  intruder,  grasps  firmly  two  of  the 
radii  and  violently  shakes  the  snare.  The  purpose 
of  this,  I  think,  is  to  warn  the  invader  that  he 
has  crossed  over  into  a  hostile  country  and  must 
immediately  return  to  his  own  territory. 

The  Ai'-ajieus  sometimes  acts  differently  when 
alarmed.  It  lets  go  the  snare  and  suddenly  drops 
down  to  fall  amongst  the  underlying  foliage.  There 
it  remains  concealed  but  not  lost.  It  is  still  connected 
with  its  snare  by  means  of  the  filament  of  silk  that  it 
has  emitted  in  its  fall.  In  addition  to  dropping  from 
its  snare,  the  Araneus  sometimes  adopts  a  more  com- 
plicated method  of  escape.  It  first  drops,  then,  while 
suspended  by  its  filament,  it  emits  a  number  of 
additional  filaments  which  are  carried  away  by  the 
breeze  until  their  free  ends  find  a  suitable  anchorage. 


THE   INSTINCT   OF   SPIDERS         145 

The  spider  then  climbs  away  along  ihe  new  filaments 
and  escapes. 

The  principle  of  protective  resemblance  is  evident 
in  the  behaviour  of  these  spiders.  The  Tetragnatha, 
when  alarmed,  remains  perfectly  motionless  and  thrusts 
forward  the  front  two  pairs  of  limbs,  the  tips  of  which 
diverge  slightly  from  one  another.  This  attitude  is, 
I  imagine,  of  some  importance  to  the  spider,  for  it  no 
longer  bears  any  resemblance  to  a  living  creature,  but 
might  be  easily  confused  with  the  flowers  of  the 
grasses  that  on  all  sides  surround  the  snare,  and  to 
which  the  structure  is  often  attached. 

But  there  is  in  these  hills  another  geometrical  spider, 
unnamed,  but  belonging  to  the  genus  Cyciosa,  which 
adopts  a  still  more  perfect  method  of  protective 
resemblance.  It  envelops  its  captured  flies  in  a  coat 
of  silk  so  as  to  form  little  pellets  which  it  strings  along 
one  of  the  diameters  of  the  snare,  almost  always,  I 
think,  in  the  vertical  direction.  The  spider  itself  very 
closely  resembles  one  of  these  silken  pellets.  It  is  of 
a  brownish-white  colour,  and,  when  it  tucks  in  its  legs 
and  remains  motionless,  it  is  not  easy  to  tell  which  is 
the  spider  and  which  the  pellet.  The  general  shade 
of  colour  varies  in  different  individuals.  Some  speci- 
mens, or  it  may  be  species,  are  distinctly  browner 
than  others,  and  the  little  pellets  which  they  construct 
are  correspondingly  of  a  darker  hue.  But  in  addition 
to  the  close  resemblance,  the  spider's  position  in  the 
snare  must  be  of  great  value,  for  it  sits  at  the  centre 
in  the  direct  line  of  the  row  of  pellets  which  are  strung 
along  the  diameter  on  either  side.  So  perfect  is  the 
resemblance  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  detect  the 
presence  of  the  spider  unless  it  is  remembered  that  it 


14G       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

always  remains  at  the  very  centre,  I  showed  the 
row  of  pellets  to  a  friend,  and  told  him  that  one  of 
them  was  a  living  spider,  I  asked  him  to  select  it, 
and  offered  a  wa^jer  that  he  would  not  be  correct  in 
his  selection.  After  a  close  scrutiny  of  the  snare,  he 
at  length  selected  one  of  the  pellets  furthest  away 
from  the  spider,  and  was  then  very  surprised  to  see 
the  central  pellet  climb  out  along  the  snare  as  soon  as 
I  touched  it. 

I  have  even  thought  that  the  theory  of  protective 
resemblance  might  be  applied  to  the  snare  itself.  A 
circular  snare,  when  spread  over  a  pool,  resembles 
sometimes  a  series  of  circular  ripples  flowing  outward 
on  the  water  from  a  central  point.  Flies  are  con- 
tinually alighting  on  these  placid  pools,  and  throw  the 
smooth  surface  into  circular  ripples  as  though  a  pebble 
was  dropped  into  the  water.  I  have  often  been 
deceived  by  these  ripples  into  the  belief  that  I  had 
discovered  a  circular  snare,  and  I  expect  that  an 
enthusiastic  supporter  of  the  theory  of  protective 
resemblances  would  claim  this  similarity  as  of  great 
advantage  to  the  spider,  by  deceiving  the  sharp  eyes 
of  insectivorous  birds.  But  to  my  mind  this  would 
be  only  a  fanciful  belief. 

The  special  senses  of  animals,  their  potency  and 
even  their  very  existence,  have  often  supplied  a  wide 
field  for  experiment  and  discussion.  I  wished  to 
satisfy  myself  as  to  the  presence  and  activity  of  these 
senses  in  the  geometrical  spiders. 

I  made  some  experiments  to  test  the  sense  of  taste 
in  spiders.  I  placed  a  large  fly  in  a  strong  solution  of 
quinine  and  gently  laid  it  on  the  snare  of  an  Aranens. 
Now,  whenever  an  Araneus  captured  a  small  insect  it 


THE   INSTINCT   OF   SPIDERS         147 

was  in  the  habit  of  devouring  it  at  the  site  of  capture, 
but,  if  the  insect  was  large,  it  used  first  to  bind  it  in  a 
few  coils  of  silk,  and  then,  carrying  it  away  to  the 
centre,  used  to  eat  it  at  its  leisure.  On  approaching 
the  large  fly  soaked  in  quinine,  the  spider  first  seized 
the  insect  but  instantly  drew  back  as  though  it  had 
discovered  something  distasteful.  It  then  commenced 
to  coil  round  the  fly  a  thick  mass  of  silk  and  to  shake 
the  web  in  the  endeavour  to  cast  out  the  bitter  morsel. 
When  the  fly  was  thoroughly  concealed  in  the  covering 
of  silk  the  spider  returned  to  the  centre  but  left  the 
fly  behind.  It  appeared  agitated  and  unhappy ;  it 
continually  brushed  its  mouth  and  jaws  with  its  fore 
limbs  as  though  to  remove  something  irritating  or 
oflensive,  and  at  intervals  forcibly  vibrated  the  snare 
in  the  hope  of  dislodging  the  distasteful  insect.  On 
another  occasion  I  soaked  a  much  smaller  fly  in  the 
quinine  solution.  The  spider  behaved  in  a  similar 
manner,  immediately  rejecting  the  insect  after  first 
tasting  it. 

I  am  confident  that  in  these  experiments  the  cause 
of  the  rejection  of  the  insects  was  the  unpleasant 
flavour  of  the  quinine.  This  substance  has  no  odour 
and  causes  no  irritation.  The  species  of  fly  was  one 
that  the  spider  always  eagerly  devoured,  and  the  spider 
did  not  reject  these  flies  when  soaked  in  other  taste- 
less fluids.  Consequently  I  felt  satisfied  that  the 
geometrical  spiders  possess  the  sense  of  taste. 

Camphor  is  a  useful  substance  for  testing  the  sense 
of  smell.  I  placed  flies  in  a  solution  of  camphor  and 
then  laid  them  carefully  on  the  snare.  The  spider  came 
forward  to  examine  them.  It  did  not  appear  to  notice 
any    sign    of    an   unnatural    odour,    but     immediately 


148       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

swallowed  the  Hies.  Camphor  is  a  germicide  and 
injurious  to  insect  life,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  it 
would  be  equally  harmful  to  spiders.  I  have  before 
mentioned  how  certain  ants  are  instantly  driven  away 
by  the  odour  of  camphor,  but  the  Araneus  passed  it 
unobserved.  It  did  not  seem  to  recognize  the  strange 
substance,  and  I  doubt  whether  it  possesses  any  more 
than  a  rudimentary  sense  of  smell. 

I  believe  a  spider  often  sees  the  flies  becoming 
entangled  in  its  snare.  It  does  not  work  by  the  power 
of  touch  alone.  I  feel  sure  that  an  Ai-aiieus,  which  I 
once  observed  descend  to  attach  the  vertical  line  of  its 
snare,  was  able  to  detect  the  presence  or  absence  of  a 
suitable  anchorage  from  a  point  eight  inches  above  the 
surface  of  the  water.  I  have  seen  an  Araneus  rush 
out  along  a  radius  in  the  endeavour  to  catch  a  fly  that 
came  dangerously  close  to,  but  did  not  touch  the  snare. 
Also  I  observed  a  spider  drop  down  from  the  centre 
of  its  web  to  a  distance  of  about  three  inches  in  order 
to  seize  a  fly  passing  underneath.  In  both  these 
cases,  however,  the  stimulus  may  have  affected  the 
sense  of  hearingr  rather  than  that  of  sigfht. 

Touch,  I  am  sure,  is  the  most  accurate  and  sensitive 
of  all  the  senses.  It  is  by  touch  that  a  spider  ensures 
the  shape,  the  structure,  and  the  symmetry  of  its 
snare.  Its  limbs  are  rule,  compass  and  dividers  with 
which  it  weaves  its  perfect  plan  of  architecture.  More- 
over, it  is  ambidextrous,  measuring  with  either  limb 
as  it  circles  to  right  or  left.  It  is  by  touch  that  it 
discovers  the  entanglement  of  its  prey.  Another 
spider  far  away  on  the  external  frame  is  instantly 
felt  and  distinguished  from  a  captured  insect.  Imitate 
how  you  will  the  entanglement  of  a  fly,   you   cannot 


THE   INSTINCT   OF   SPIDERS  149 

deceive  the  spider's  fine  sense  of  touch  ;  it  will  not 
hurry  out  to  seize  a  capture,  but  violently  shake 
its  snare  to  repel  an  enemy.  How  accurate,  how 
discriminating  is  this  sense  of  touch !  A  snare 
extends  from  bank  to  bank  at  the  brink  of  a  cascade. 
As  the  waters  pour  over  the  rocky  ledge  and  splash 
in  the  pool  beneath,  hundreds  of  little  drops  leap 
up  and  strike  against  the  snare.  At  every  stroke 
the  fabric  quivers,  but  the  spider  sits  unmoved.  The 
slightest  touch  by  a  passing  fly  and  it  rushes  out  along 
the  quivering  line.  But  the  vibration  of  the  drops  of 
water  no  more  mislead  it  than  do  the  tremors  of  the 
wind.  There  can  be  few  creatures  that  possess  so 
fine  a  tactile  sense  as  the  spiders  that  construct 
geometrical  snares. 

"  The  spider's  touch,  how  exquisitely  fine  ! 
Feels  at  each  thread,  and  lives  along  the  line." 

I  have  now  concluded  my  remarks  on  the  geo- 
metrical spiders.  I  find  that  they  are  endowed  with 
acute  senses  in  relation  to  the  outer  world.  They  see, 
hear,  taste,  and  have  an  exquisite  sense  of  touch.  But 
their  minds  are  an  utter  blank.  They  know  nothing  of 
their  lives.  They  are  oblivious  of  all  their  subtle 
skill.  They  lack  the  faintest  glimmer  of  knowledge, 
the  flimsiest  conception  of  the  why  and  wherefore  of 
it  all.  They  can  no  more  reflect  upon  their  past 
nor  retrace  their  thread  of  architecture  than  they  can 
conceive  the  nature  of  their  toil. 


CHAPTER    IX 

SHEET-BUILDING    SPIDERS 

Habits  of  spider  and  character  of  snare — Refusal  to  spin  in  stormy 
weather^Mode  of  capturing  prey — Injection  of  poison — Sense  of 
touch — Function  of  pedipalps— Force  of  instinct  — Shaniming  death 
in  spiders  and  insects — Physical  properties  of  web — Pertinacity  of 
Ariema. 

Every  nook  and  cranny  in  these  hills  was  used  as  a 
lurking-place  by  another  common  genus  of  spider  that 
constructs  its  snare  in  the  form  of  a  non-viscid  sheet. 
This  is  the  genus  Hippasa,  and  the  species  most 
probably  H.  olivacea  of  Thorell  (see  Plate,  p.  88). 

The  sheet  of  web,  continuous  with  the  funnel-shaped 
tube  at  the  mouth  of  which  the  spider  waits  in  hiding 
for  its  prey,  is  so  well  known  as  scarcely  to  need 
description.  The  sheet  is  composed  of  such  an 
enormous  number  of  tiny  threads  that  at  first  sight  it 
seems  incredible  that  the  spider  could  lay  down  so 
dense  a  network  of  single  lines.  After  observing  the 
spider  at  the  construction  of  its  snare,  it  soon  became 
evident  that,  unlike  the  geometrical  spider,  it  worked 
with  a  bunch  of  filaments  and  not  with  a  single  thread. 
After  a  scries  of  single  foundation-lines  had  been 
drawn  from  point  to  point  so  as  to  form  a  scaffolding 
for  the  snare,  the  spider  commenced  to  emit  a  sheaf 
of  filaments  and  to  wander  in  a  haphazard  manner 
backwards  and  forwards  from  side  to  side,  attaching 
the  sheaf   to   suitable    points   until  the    fine   sheet   of 

150 


SHEET-BUILDING   SPIDERS  151 

webbing  was  complete  to  satisfaction.  There  is  no 
geometrical  accuracy  in  this  structure.  Nor  is  there 
any  viscidity  in  its  lines  save  at  the  points  of  attach- 
ment of  the  filaments.  Insects  are  captured  by 
entanglement  in  the  fine  meshes  and  not  by  adherence 
to  its  lines. 

Instantly  an  insect  alights  on  the  snare  its  feet  and 
wings  become  entangled  in  the  meshes.  With  a  little 
struggling  it  can  usually  break  free,  but  the  hungry, 
evil-looking  spider,  crouching  near  the  mouth  of  its 
retreat,  dashes  at  terrific  speed  across  the  snare  and 
seizes  its  victim  before  it  can  escape.  It  is  a  most 
extraordinary  fact  that  a  spider  can  move  about  so 
freely  on  the  snare  without  ever  getting  its  own  legs 
entangled  in  the  meshes.  With  a  magnifying  glass  it 
can  be  easily  seen  that  the  spider  possesses  three  little 
curved  claws  at  the  tips  of  the  tarsi,  and  that  at  every 
step  these  claws  hook  over  a  filament  of  the  web.  If 
the  tips  of  the  claws  be  removed  with  a  fine  pair  of 
scissors  the  spider  will  move  over  its  snare  with  much 
greater  difficulty,  hooking  up  a  thread  here  and  there, 
thouQrh  it  will  not  become  entangled.  It  is  difficult  to 
understand  how  the  claws  never  succeed  in  becoming 
caught  in  the  meshes  and  impeding  the  progress  of  the 
spider,  yet  this  never  occurs  no  matter  how  tattered  and 
broken  the  snare  may  be.  It  is  strange  to  witness  a 
spider  darting  with  such  incredible  speed  over  its 
snare  that  its  movements  are  almost  impossible  to 
follow,  and  to  recognize  that  at  every  one  of  the  little 
steps  that  go  to  make  each  movement,  twenty-four 
tiny  curved  claws  are  hooked  over  various  filaments  in 
the  web,  and  that  these  claws,  though  apparently  just 
the  very   implements  suitable   for  entanglement,   are 


152       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

raised  and  lowered  and  hooked  around  die  filaments 
with  such  perfect  precision  that  under  no  condition 
whatsoever  do  they  become  entangled  in  the  snare. 

I  was  interested  one  day  in  observing  that  the 
Hippasa  was  actually  able  to  burrow  through  the 
substance  of  its  snare.  A  wasp  of  the  species  Polistes 
hcbrc€iis  had  become  entangled.  The  spider  dared 
not  attack  so  formidable  an  enemy,  but  slunk  away  to 
the  edge  of  the  snare.  The  wasp,  in  its  struggles  to 
get  free,  dragged  the  web  to  pieces  and  succeeded  in 
confining  the  spider  beneath  a  fold  of  its  own  snare. 
The  spider,  nothing  daunted,  flexed  its  limbs,  deftly 
separated  the  filaments  of  its  web,  very  rapidly 
burrowed  its  way  up  through  the  body  of  the  snare, 
and  set  about  the  work  of  reconstruction.  Such  is  the 
freedom  of  the  Hippasa  when  moving  amongst  the 
intricacies  of  its  own  lines. 

These  spiders  have  learnt  the  lesson  of  the  use- 
lessness  of  snare-construction  in  stormy  weather. 
Heavy  downpours  of  rain,  occurring  at  frequent 
intervals  and  sometimes  lasting  for  many  days,  break 
upon  these  hills.  At  such  periods  the  spiders  remain 
in  their  little  rocky  clefts  and  never  attempt  to  con- 
struct a  snare,  knowing  full  well  that  it  would  be 
broken  to  fragments  by  the  next  downfall. 

The  Hippasa  displays  a  most  remarkable  instinctive 
power  in  the  seizure  of  its  prey.  It  injects  the  poison 
into  the  one  vital  spot  that  will  instantly  paralyze  its 
victim.  One  might  almost  be  led  to  believe  that  these 
spiders  were  acquainted  with  the  minute  anatomical 
structure  of  insects.  It  is  very  essential  to  the  spider 
that  it  should  know  how  to  render  its  prey  immediately 
nuiescent.     It  must  strike  suddenly  and  with  instari' 


SHEET-BUILDING   SPIDERS  153 

taneous  effect.  For  when  an  insect  becomes  entangled 
in  a  snare  and  is  struggling  to  escape,  it  forcibly  exerts 
its  legs  and  wings  in  the  attempt  to  tear  itself  away. 
By  the  force  of  these  violent  efforts  it  often  does  escape, 
and  on  all  occasions  injures  the  snare.  The  move- 
ments of  the  legs  and  wings  cause  the  greatest  damage, 
so  it  is  necessary  that  the  spider  should  quickly  subdue 
these  and  render  its  prey  helpless.  The  movements 
of  these  parts  are  under  the  control  of  a  nervous 
ganglion  situated  in  the  insect's  thorax,  and  the  spider 
acts  as  though  it  were  well  aware  of  this  fact.  It 
behaves  as  though  it  understood  that  the  thorax  is  the 
vital  spot  and  that  into  the  substance  of  this  part  it 
must  strike.  On  every  occasion  on  which  I  have 
observed  the  spider  seize  its  prey  it  has  struck  un- 
hesitatingly straight  into  the  thoracic  ganglion,  pro- 
ducing an  immediate  paralysis  of  the  legs  and  wings. 
It  behaves  with  a  similar  skill  to  the  tarantula  of 
M.  Fabre,  that  struck  into  the  one  vital  point  in  the 
whole  nervous  chain.  Wonderful  as  are  the  instincts 
of  the  geometrical  spiders  in  the  weaving  of  their 
beautiful  snares,  no  less  fascinating  are  the  instincts  of 
this  humbler  species  in  the  exactness  of  its  knowledge 
of  the  vital  anatomical  point  and  the  perfect  precision 
of  its  stroke. 

I  think  it  is  a  matter  of  some  doubt  amonor  natural- 
ists  whether  or  not  the  smaller  species  of  spiders 
actually  inject  poison  into  their  insect  prey,  I  am 
inclined  to  believe  that  they  do.  For  an  insect,  after 
being  seized  by  the  Hippasa,  is  paralyzed  in  an 
extremely  short  space  of  time,  far  shorter  than  could 

\  result  from  mere  penetration  of  the  thorax.  The  legs 
and  wings  are  in  an  instant  struck  motionless,     If  th§ 


154       A   NATURALIST   IN    HIMALAYA 

thorax  of  an  insect  be  penetrated  with  a  pin  or  even 
the  interior  of  the  thorax  entirely  destroyed,  the  legs 
and  wings  are  not  paralyzed  for  a  long  time,  possibly 
for  days,  yet  the  destruction  of  tissue  is  much  greater 
than  that  produced  by  the  spider's  fangs.  The  rapid 
paralysis  seems  therefore  to  be  due  very  probably  to 
the  injection  of  a  minute  quantity  of  a  powerful  nervous 
poison. 

The  Hippasa  lurks  at  the  entrance  to  its  tunnel 
with  its  subtle  snare  spread  out  before  it.  There 
would  seem  to  be  little  doubt  that  it  is  waiting  and 
watching  for  its  prey.  But  this  may  not  be  strictly 
true,  for  the  sense  of  sight  does  not  appear  to  be  very 
acute  in  these  spiders.  They  are  directed  towards 
their  prey  by  the  help  of  the  vibration  of  the  snare 
rather  than  by  the  power  of  vision.  It  is  possible  to 
move  a  fine  needle  from  side  to  side  in  front  of  the 
spider's  head  without  it  showing  any  sign  of  being 
aware  of  the  strange  object,  but  touch  one  of  the 
filaments  ever  so  gently  with  the  needle  and  the  spider 
is  off  at  lightning  speed.  I  also  noticed  in  some 
examples,  which  I  kept  captive  in  a  box,  that  they 
were  able  to  detect  the  aerial  vibrations  caused  by 
buzzing  flies,  but  would  be  quite  oblivious  of  their 
presence  when  the  insects  crawled  close  by  along  the 
floor  of  the  box.  But  once  a  fly  touched  a  filament 
then  the  spider  became  instantly  alert  and  darted 
towards  the  capture. 

The  pedipalps  are  to  the  spider  what  the  antennae 
are  to  an  insect,  or  the  hands  to  a  human  being. 
They  are  all-important  organs  on  which  the  creature's 
livelihood  depends.  Neither  does  the  sense  of  hearing 
nor   that    of  smell    reside    in    the   pedipalps,   for  the 


SHEET-BUILDING   SPIDERS  155 

spiders  of  this  species  respond  to  sound  vibrations  and 
to  the  odour  of  camphor  after  the  pedipalps  have  been 
removed.  But  I  beheve  they  possess  a  most  exquisite 
sense  of  touch  and  that  by  their  means  the  spider  is 
able  to  detect  the  finest  vibrations  of  its  snare.  This 
might  be  expected  from  their  anatomical  position,  for 
they  do  not  extend  forwards  like  the  antennce  of  insects, 
but  are  bent  downwards  beneath  the  spider's  body, 
and  not  only  rest  on  the  snare,  but  move  about  on  it 
in  a  manner  resembling"  limbs.  The  importance  of 
the  pedipalps  is  shown  by  the  results  that  follow  their 
amputation.  After  the  pedipalps  are  removed  the 
Hippasa  can  still  construct  a  snare,  but  it  resembles 
the  architecture  of  the  A^'aneus  after  the  amputation 
of  its  fore  limb  ;  it  is  a  tangled  and  a  shapeless  fabric. 
The  spider,  when  deprived  of  its  pedipalps,  crawls 
about  clumsily  ;  it  has  lost  much  of  its  skill  and  pre- 
cision. It  continually  catches  its  feet  in  the  filaments 
of  its  web,  an  act  which,  in  the  uninjured  spider,  never 
occurs,  and  I  have  even  seen  it  tear  the  snare  in  the 
endeavour  to  free  its  limbs.  Without  its  pedipalps, 
the  Hippasa  can  no  longer  capture  flies.  It  seems  to 
be  quite  unable  to  detect  the  vibrations  that  follow  on 
the  entanglement  of  its  prey.  I  doubt  if  its  hearing 
is  affected,  for  I  have  noticed  it  extending  its  fore 
limbs  towards  the  sound  of  a  buzzing  fly  as  though 
it  were  a  man  deprived  of  its  eyesight  and  groping 
in  the  dark.  I  believe  it  had  lost  a  sense  as  important 
to  a  spider  as  is  sight  to  a  human  being ;  it  had  lost 
the  sense  of  touch. 

A  little  incident  illustrating  the  force  of  instinct  in 
this  species  rather  amused  me.  The  Hippasa  was 
waiting  for  visitors  at  the  entrance  to  its  tube  and  the 


156       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

shell  of  a  fly,  long  since  emptied  of  its  juices,  lay 
rejected  on  the  snare.  An  unwelcome  visitor  in  the 
shape  of  a  stinging  wasp  came  buzzing  by  and  entangled 
its  feet  in  the  spider's  snare.  Now  the  Hippasa, 
though  armed  with  fangs  and  poison,  is  by  no  means 
valiant ;  though  fierce  enough  with  harmless  flies,  it 
will  not  join  battle  with  an  angered  wasp.  However, 
on  feeling  the  vibration  of  the  snare  it  darted  forward, 
but,  on  perceiving  the  nature  of  its  capture,  it  halted 
for  an  instant  and  then  sprang  swiftly  back.  But  the 
presence  of  the  wasp  seemed  to  have  imbued  the  spider 
with  an  impelling  instinct  of  capture,  a  feeling  that, 
if  it  could  not  seize  the  wasp,  it  must  seize  something, 
for  it  again  darted  forward  with  equal  rapidity,  not  to 
attack  the  stinging  wasp,  but  to  sink  its  fangs  deeply 
into  the  rejected  remnants  of  the  fly.  It  is  dangerous 
to  interpret  insect  emotions  in  terms  of  human  feeling, 
but  it  was  difficult  not  to  conclude  that  the  entangled 
wasp  had  aroused  in  the  spider  that  instinct  which 
compels  it  to  rush  forth  and  seize  an  insect,  and  that 
the  instinct,  being  first  foiled  by  the  fierce  nature  of 
the  prey,  yet  still  impelled  the  spider  on  until  it  finally 
attained  its  unprofitable  fulfilment  in  the  body  of  the 
empty  fly.  The  force  of  instinct  is  remorseless.  It 
must  be  satisfied  even  in  a   useless  end. 

We  see  similar  instances  of  this  blundering,  mis- 
guided instinct  all  through  the  animal  world.  I  have 
already  mentioned  how  the  harvesting  ants  will  some- 
times during  times  of  famine  store  up  grass  and  pebbles 
in  the  nest,  not  that  this  material  is  of  any  use  to 
them,  but  because  they  feel  compelled  by  instinct  to 
gather  something,  and  there  is  no  grain  available  for 
them  to  collect,     Also  I   have  shown   how   the  car- 


SHEET-BUILDING   SPIDERS  157 

nivorous  ants,  Myrmecocysttis,  will  ferociously  attack  an 
injured  comrade,  not  because  they  owe  it  any  hatred, 
but  because  they  associate  the  injury  with  the  presence 
of  an  enemy  and,  being  unable  to  find  this  enemy, 
they  satisfy  their  instinctive  sense  of  battle  by  turning 
on  their  own  kin.  So  also  it  is  with  many  of  the 
higher  animals.  I  was  once  told  of  a  tiny  kitten  that 
was  reared  from  birth  in  a  cigar-box.  It  recognized 
the  safety  of  its  cradle,  and  when  alarmed  used  to 
hurry  away  to  hide  itself  in  its  little  home.  At  length 
the  kitten  grew  into  a  big  cat,  but  it  still  retained  the 
instinct  of  its  early  days.  It  seemed  to  believe  that 
its  first  home  was  still  its  sure  place  of  refuge,  for 
whenever  it  thought  itself  in  danger  it  used  to  dash 
away  and  squat  over  the  old  cigar-box,  though  now 
little  more  than  its  feet  were  able  to  fit  inside.  Surely 
this  was  a  mistaken  instinct,  for  the  cat  could  find  no 
safety  there. 

Similar  instances  are  to  be  found  even  amongst  the 
monkeys.  I  once  saw  a  monkey  so  annoyed  by  its 
owner  that  it  flew  into  a  passion.  It  was  full  of 
resentment,  and  it  hissed  and  snarled  at  its  master. 
But  just  as  in  the  case  of  the  angry  spider  and  the 
well-armed  wasp,  so  also  did  a  similar  behaviour  occur 
in  the  case  of  the  enraged  monkey.  It  dared  not 
attack  its  master,  but  the  force  of  instinct  impelled  it 
to  attack  something,  and  it  fastened  its  teeth  upon  a 
chair.  So  also  it  is  among^st  the  most  intelliofent  and 
social  of  beasts.  In  their  case  this  miseuided  instinct 
leads  them  into  horrible  and  cruel  acts.  For  just  as 
the  carnivorous  ant  will  rend  in  pieces  the  disabled 
members  of  its  own  nest,  so  also  will  the  saoracious 
elephant  turn  on  the  wounded  of  its  own  kin,  or  will 


158       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIIMALAYA 

a  herd  of  oxen  led  by  the  same  blundering-  Instinct 
ferociously  attack  an  injured  comrade  until  they  gore 
it  to  death. 

I  noticed  that,  after  catching  these  spiders  in  a  glass 
tube  so  that  all  mode  of  escape  was  cut  off,  they  used, 
after  running  up  and  down  the  tube  a  few  times, 
commence  to  feign  death.  I  do  not  suggest  that  the 
spider  voluntarily  placed  its  body  in  the  posture  that 
it  thought  it  would  occupy  after  it  was  dead,  for  I 
greatly  doubt  if  so  lowly  a  creature  could  have  any 
mental  idea  of  what  that  posture  would  be.  But 
certainly  the  posture  of  death  was  that  which  the 
spiders  did  assume,  for  I  allowed  some  specimens  to 
die  in  order  to  satisfy  myself  of  the  fact.  The  Hippasa 
has  instinctively  learnt  that  it  must  first  rely  on  its 
great  speed  to  effect  its  escape,  and  that,  when  its 
retreat  is  cut  off  on  all  sides,  its  last  resort  is  to  lie 
absolutely  motionless  and  pretend  that  it  is  dead. 

This  is  often  an  excellent  mode  of  escape  and  not 
at  all  uncommon  amongst  both  spiders  and  insects. 
A  cantharid  beetle,  with  a  red  prothorax  and  dark 
metallic  blue  wing-covers,  often  found  in  the  valley, 
used  to  sham  death  in  the  most  perfect  manner.  When 
touched,  it  immediately  became  motionless,  flexed  its 
head,  turned  its  antenna;  beneath  its  body,  bent  in 
its  legs  and  appeared  quite  dead.  Another  much 
larger  form  belonging  to  the  genus  Mylabris  of  the 
same  family,  with  conspicuous  wing-covers  banded 
with  warning  colours  of  bright  yellow,  also  feigned 
death  and,  when  alarmed,  sometimes  remained  in  that 
state  for  over  a  minute.  A  very  similar  species  of 
the  same  genus,  coloured  with  red  bands  and  usually 
found  at  higher  altitudes,  remained  absolutely  motion- 


SHEET-BUILDING   SPIDERS  159 

less  for  two  minutes  with  little  yellow  drops  of  acrid 
fluid  exuding  from  the  joints  of  its  tarsi.  It  is  curious 
that,  in  addition  to  flight,  this  insect  has  three  other 
modes  of  defence,  by  shamming  death,  by  a  display  of 
warning  colours,  and  by  the  secretion  of  an  acrid  juice. 

Weevils  {Cu7'culionidcc)  are  a  group  of  insects  that 
commonly  sham  death.  The  characteristic  feature  of 
their  attitude  is  the  position  of  the  antennae.  Normally 
the  antennae  are  angular  and  project  forward  very 
much  like  those  of  an  ant,  but  when  feigning  death 
they  are  turned  downwards  and  curved  in  beneath 
the  flexed  head  so  as  to  be  completely  hidden  from 
sight,  and  this  is  also  their  posture  when  the  insect 
is  really  dead.  But  a  weevil  will  not  sham  death 
when  it  would  be  more  advantageous  to  adopt  some 
other  mode  of  escape.  It  seems  to  have  some  sense 
of  discrimination  in  the  matter  ;  for  I  placed  one  near 
the  entrance  to  a  nest  of  carnivorous  ants  and,  when 
attacked,  it  never  for  a  moment  attempted  to  sham 
death,  but  rapidly  took  to  its  heels. 

But  the  best  instance  that  has  come  under  my 
notice  of  the  strange  practice  of  feigning  death  was 
in  the  case  of  the  butterfly  Libythea  myrrha.  This 
little  butterfly  is  swift  and  erratic  in  its  flight ;  it  is 
protectively  coloured  on  its  under  surface  so  as  to 
closely  resemble  a  dried  leaf,  and  in  its  movements 
through  the  air  it  looks  very  like  a  moth.  I  once 
observed  the  common  bulbul,  Molpastes  leuco^enys, 
make  a  sudden  attack  on  this  butterfly.  The  Libythea 
was  fluttering  across  a  dusty  path  when  the  bulbul 
dashed  swiftly  on  it.  But  the  insect  appeared  to  be 
well  aware  of  its  danger,  for  it  instantly  checked  its 
flight  and  literally  threw  itself  to  the  ground.      Thus 


160       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

the  bird  missed  its  prey  and  the  butterfly  looked  to 
all  appearances  dead.  I  went  to  pick  it  up,  thinking 
that  it  must  be  either  dead  or  injured  since  it  did  not 
rest  upright,  but  rather  lay  on  its  side  like  a  leaf  in 
the  dust.  However,  it  was  far  from  really  dead.  I 
had  no  sooner  touched  it  than  it  raised  itself  from  the 
ground,  opened  wide  its  wings  and  flew  uninjured 
away.  This  seemed  a  good  illustration  of  the  principle 
of  feigning  death  ;  there  was  no  doubt  that  the  Libythea 
was  well  aware  of  its  danger  and  saved  its  life  by 
adopting  the  simple  ruse  of  hurling  itself  to  the 
ground,  where  it  lay  motionless  pretending  that  it 
was  dead. 

I  have  mentioned  these  instances  to  show  how 
general  is  this  instinct  both  amongst  spiders  and  their 
prey.  Whatever  may  be  its  origin,  it  is  a  very  real 
and  valuable  behaviour,  and  the  fact  remains  that  the 
attitude  adopted  by  the  species  when  feigning  death 
is  the  same  as  that  assumed  when  the  spider  or  insect 
is  actually  dead. 

Before  leaving  the  Hippasa  I  may  mention  a  few 
physical  properties  of  the  webs  of  spiders  that  some- 
what interested  me.  The  first  was  the  remarkable 
power  possessed  by  the  web  of  the  sheet-building 
spiders  in  preventing  evaporation  in  the  air  beneath 
it.  One  species  of  this  tribe  of  spiders  used  to  con- 
struct its  sheet  amongst  the  rank  grass  or  over  hollows 
in  the  sand.  During  the  night  a  deposit  of  dew  used 
to  form  on  the  under  surface  of  the  web,  and  one 
would  think  that  the  warm  sun  would  quickly  evaporate 
the  cluster  of  dewdrops  that  hung  from  the  silken 
snare.  But  the  sun  did  not  seem  to  have  the  power, 
for  the  drops  remained.      I   did  not  take  much  notice 


SHEET-BUILDING   SPIDERS  161 

of  this  until  I  saw  the  same  occur  in  the  broiHng  heat 
of  the  Euphrates  valley.  There  some  little  spiders 
used  to  spin  their  sheets  of  web  close  to  the  river. 
In  the  mornings  they  were  often  spangled  with  dew. 
Then  the  sun  would  rise  ;  its  rays  would  grow  intense 
the  moment  it  appeared ;  the  temperature  would 
slowly  creep  up  to  ioo°  F.  ;  the  sands  would  burn 
to  the  touch  and  the  air  quiver  with  shimmering  heat, 
but  the  glittering  drops  would  still  remain  suspended 
from  the  sheet  of  silk.  Of  such  protection  is  this 
webbing  that,  even  at  midday  in  a  broiling  sun,  I 
have  seen  the  drops  still  pendent  on  the  sheet.  No 
doubt  this  property  is  of  value  to  the  spider  in  retaining 
for  its  use  a  plentiful  supply  of  moisture. 

Another  physical  property  of  the  spider's  snare 
which  adds  still  further  to  its  own  intrinsic  beauty  is 
its  power  of  separating  the  white  sunlight  into  its 
primary  constituent  rays.  We  see  this  best  in  the 
circular  snare  when  it  is  stretched  between  a  pair  of 
pines  high  above  us  in  the  forest.  The  snare  is  sus- 
pended in  the  vertical  line,  the  sun  is  approaching  the 
zenith,  and  we  look  from  below  at  a  steep  angle  into 
the  snare  so  as  to  see  the  sun's  rays  streaming  down 
through  it  from  above.  We  look  up  at  it  through  the 
dark  trees  ;  we  can  scarcely  see  it  against  the  clear 
sky,  when  suddenly  it  becomes  suffused  with  a  lovely 
glow  and  a  rich  stream  of  coloured  light  illuminates  its 
silken  lines.  Every  filament  has  become  a  prism  ;  the 
sun's  white  light  is  broken  into  many  parts  and  the 
whole  circle  of  the  silken  fabric  trleams  with  a  rainbow 
light.  It  is  a  vision  of  transient  beauty  amidst  the 
conifers  when  all  around  is  the  silent  forest  wrappc^d 
in  a  gloomy  shade. 

M 


162       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

I  fear  I  have  wearied  my  readers  with  this  loiiL!^ 
account  of  my  observations  on  spiders.  I  wish  I 
could  give  them  a  httle  of  the  pleasure  that  I  obtained 
in  making  them.  I  will  conclude  with  an  incident 
illustrating  their  strength  and  pertinacity.  Spiders  of 
the  genus  Ariema  spin  a  snare  in  the  form  of  a  tangled 
network  of  stay-lines  supporting  below  a  concave 
hammock.  The  spider  hangs  head  downwards  from 
the  under  surface  of  the  hammock,  and,  whenever  an 
insect  becomes  entangled  in  the  stay-lines,  it  violently 
vibrates  the  snare  in  order  to  shake  the  capture  down 
into  the  hammock.  On  one  occasion  I  watched  a 
large  moth  strike  against  the  stay-lines,  meet  with 
immediate  difficulties  and  soon  tumble  down  into  the 
quivering  snare.  The  spider  instantly  seized  the  moth 
by  the  tip  of  the  abdomen,  while  the  struggling  insect, 
in  its  efforts  to  escape,  broke  through  the  floor  of  the 
hammock.  The  moth  was  now  unsupported  by  the 
snare,  but  was  held  firmly  in  the  spider's  fangs  while 
the  latter  hung  head  downwards  by  its  hind  claws 
from  a  filament  of  the  snare.  This  genus  of  spider 
injects  no  poison  ;  it  has  no  knowledge  of  the  vital 
anatomical  point ;  it  subdues  its  victim  by  its  own 
strenoth.  Now  the  moth  was  at  least  six  times  as 
large  as  the  spider  and  must  have  been  an  enormous 
weight  for  that  little  creature  to  support ;  moreover 
the  moth,  by  continual  struggles  and  vibrations  of  its 
wings,  endeavoured  to  escape,  and  it  seemed  as  though 
at  any  moment  it  would  break  free.  Yet  the  spider 
continued  to  cling  with  its  hind  claws  to  the  filament 
and  to  maintain  its  fangs  fixed  in  the  abdomen  of  that 
unsupported  struggling  moth.  It  persisted  in  that 
attitude,  stubbornly  refusing  to  let  go  its  prey,  and  not 


SHEET-BUILDING   SPIDERS  163 

till  five  hours  had  elapsed  did  it  fall  exhausted  to  the 
ground.  Its  strength  but  not  its  determination  had 
failed,  for  its  fangs  were  still  buried  in  its  victim.  I 
had  long  since  ceased  to  be  surprised  at  the  wonderful 
instincts  of  spiders,  but  I  had  never  believed  that  they 
possessed  such  brute  strength  and  resolution. 


CHAPTER   X 

OBSERVATIONS    ON    INSECT    LIFE 

Mountain  dust — Inhabitants  of  pools^Carnivorous  flies — Water-boatmen 
— Struggle  for  life — Mentality  of  fishes — Habits  of  Vespa  orientalis 
— Nest  of  Polistes — Depredations  of  Vespa  juagnifua  -Mimicry  in 
humble-bees — Humble-bees  and  flowers — Habits  of  leaf-cutting 
bees — Instinct  of  mud-wasp — Instinct  of  digger-wasps. 

Temperature  and  season  greatly  influence  the  aspect 
of  a  country.  They  are  the  common  agents  of 
physical  change.  Their  action  in  this  valley  presents 
one  feature  deserving  of  our  notice :  the  cloud  of 
fine  dust  that  daily  fills  the  sky.  In  the  oppressive 
days  of  summer,  when  for  weeks  no  rain  may  fall, 
a  dense  haze  collects  over  the  mountains.  It  hangs 
thick  over  the  valleys,  and,  like  a  veil,  envelops  even 
the  highest  peaks.  The  burning  cliffs  radiate  a  fierce 
heat  and  there  is  scarce  a  movement  in  the  breathless 
air.  All  objects  are  obscured  as  though  in  a  dim  mist. 
The  trees  are  unreal  ;  the  hills  are  ill-defined  ;  they 
look  bleak  and  uninviting,  as  though  we  looked 
through  a  moist  fog  on  to  a  rocky  shore.  From  a 
summit  we  obtain  no  sight  of  a  distant  range,  and  the 
plains  are  concealed  beneath  a  shroud  of  dust.  The 
atmosphere  looks  polluted,  foul  and  murky,  a  vision  of 
discomfort.  Sickness  increases.  All  vitality  is  lost 
when  the  cloud  of  heat  obscures  the  sky.  This  haze 
is  due  to  the  permeation  of  the  atmosphere  with  a  very 
fine  dust  carried  up  by  ascending  convection  currents 

164 


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OBSERVATIONS  .ON   INSECT   LIFE    165 

generated  by  the  contact  of  the  air  with  the  heated 
rocks.  That  these  currents  rise  with  great  force  from 
the  valleys  is  indicated  by  the  ease  with  which  the 
plumed  seeds  are  swept  aloft  from  between  the  cliffs 
into  the  open  sky,  or  the  way  in  which  a  rain-cloud 
pouring  over  a  ridge  is  opposed  by  an  ascending 
stream  within  the  valley  and  driven  upwards  as 
though  in  wreaths  of  smoke.  The  mornings  show 
a  clearer  sky.  The  dust  has  settled  in  the  cool  of 
night.  But  it  is  only  a  temporary  lapse  ;  the  haze 
again  deepens  with  the  daily  heat.  Nothing  but  rain 
can  now  purify  the  air. 

At  last  the  clouds  collect  over  the  hills  ;  first  in 
silvery  wisps  increasing  each  evening  into  heavy 
cumuli,  and  backing  away  at  night,  leaving  a  clear  sky. 
Finally  the  clouds  burst ;  a  sense  of  relief  is  felt  as 
the  rain  pours  down  in  torrents.  The  sky  clears  and 
we  see  that  the  haze  of  dust  has  been  swept  to  earth. 
A  vast  panorama  is  now  exposed  ;  thousands  of 
square  miles  of  mountain  are  seen  in  a  single  view. 
All  that  was  wrapped  in  gloom  appears  through  a 
transparent  sky.  So  clear  is  the  prospect  that  every 
object  looks  magnified  as  though  drawn  miles  nearer 
to  our  vision.  Shadows  cast  by  a  passing  cloud  or  by 
a  mountain  side  roll  across  the  clear  valleys.  Sinuous 
rivers  sparkle  in  the  sunlight ;  tiny  villages  or  strips 
of  cultivated  soil,  hiding  in  some  narrow  glen,  for  the 
first  time  appear  to  view  ;  the  nearer  hills  are  tinged 
with  blue  as  if  reflecting  the  azure  of  the  sky,  and 
the  snowy  peaks  climbing  above  the  wooded  slopes 
contend  with  the  whiteness  of  the  clouds. 

Thus  do  the  waves  of  heat,  risinp-  from  the  enclosed 
valleys  and  lifting  the  finest  particles  of  dust,  darken 


166       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

the  sky  and  hide  the  face  of  Nature.  Plains,  whole 
mountain  ranges,  even  the  very  sun,  ar^  blotted  from 
our  view.  At  last  the  thunder-clouds  burst ;  torrents 
of  rain  descend  ;  the  veil  of  dust  is  swept  to  ground 
and  a  new  world  is  exposed. 

Animal  life  continues  to  flourish  amidst  this 
chano^ino-  scene.  In  the  streams  that  rush  down  the 
wooded  slopes  or  flow  more  gently  through  the 
rounded  hills  are  many  forms,  all  competing  for  the 
right  to  live.  Fresh-water  crabs  creep  lazily  through 
the  pools.  They  did  not  seem  to  struggle  hard  for 
life,  yet  even  these  crabs  had  their  own  device  by 
which  to  seize  their  prey.  One  day  I  observed  a 
fresh-water  crab  eagerly  devouring  a  dead  frog.  As  I 
never  saw  dead  frogs  floating  in  these  streams,  I 
felt  sure  that  the  crabs  must  capture  their  prey  alive. 
They  were  not  very  active  animals  and  usually 
remained  at  the  bottom  of  the  pools,  so  I  wondered 
how  they  succeeded  in  catching  the  sharp  and  nimble 
frogs.  In  another  pool  the  little  problem  was  solved. 
On  first  searching  the  water  for  any  sign  of  life 
I  detected  nothing  but  a  few  tadpoles ;  then,  on 
looking  more  carefully,  I  saw  the  tips  of  a  pair  of  large 
claws  projecting  from  beneath  a  quantity  of  bright 
green  water-weed.  Not  a  trace  of  the  body  was 
visible  ;  nothing  but  the  pair  of  limbs  widely 
separated,  with  the  claws  partly  open,  clearly  showing 
that  the  crab  was  lying  in  ambush  to  seize  a  passing 
animal.  There  were  no  frogs  in  this  pool,  so  I 
removed  one  from  the  stream  and  gently  lowered 
it  towards  the  extended  claws.  The  crab  immediately 
darted  from  beneath  its  green  hiding-place,  clutched 
the  frog  in  its  strong  claws  and  scuttled  away  beneath 


OBSERVATIONS   ON    INSECT   LIFE    167 

the  overhangincT  bank.  Thus  do  the  crabs,  though 
the  most  shiggish  creatures  in  the  pool,  gain  their 
Hvehhood  by  a  subtle  skill.  I  suspect  it  is  similar 
in  the  depths  of  the  ocean,  and  that  there  the  crabs 
and  lobsters  lie  in  hiding  amongst  the  sea-weed  and 
the  stones  to  pounce  suddenly  upon  their  prey. 

Dragon-flies  [Odonata)  and  sometimes  robber-flies 
(Asi/idcc)  loved  to  haunt  the  streams.  The  dragon- 
flies  came,  not  only  for  prey,  but  to  lay  their  eggs 
in  the  water.  One  large  and  beautiful  species,  with  a 
black  and  green  thorax  and  banded  abdomen,  used  to 
alight  on  the  grass  and  dip  its  abdomen  deep  down 
into  the  water ;  while  its  partner,  hovering  just  above, 
dashed  furiously  to  attack  any  strange  dragon-fly  that 
dared  to  invade  the  sacred  precincts.  Dragon-flies 
must  be  included  amongst  the  few  enemies  of  ants. 
After  a  heavy  downpour  of  rain  flights  of  male  and 
female  ants  belonging  to  a  small  yellow  species  used 
sometimes  to  congregate  in  a  cloud  and  hang  in 
the  air  near  the  banks  of  the  streams.  The  dragon- 
flies  then  took  a  heavy  toll  of  their  numbers,  darting 
hither  and  thither  through  the  swarm  like  a  flock  of 
insectivorous  birds  amono-st  a  flio^ht  of  termites. 

The  AsilidcE  used  to  lie  in  wait  for  prey  usually  on 
a  projecting  spur  of  limestone.  These  flies,  as  is  well 
known,  capture  insects  on  the  wing,  drive  their  sharp 
beaks  into  the  bodies  of  their  victims  and  suck  up 
the  body-juice.  In  dealing  with  smaller  prey,  such  as 
a  house-fly  or  a  Syrphid,  it  simply  drives  its  beak 
straight  into  the  abdomen  of  its  victim.  No  more 
cunning  is  required.  This  is  sufficient  to  subdue 
its  capture.  But  it  is  different  with  stronger  species. 
I   watched  an  Asilid  that  had   seized   a  moth.     The 


168       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

robber- fly  lay  astride  the  back  of  its  prey,  gripping 
it  tenaciously  with  all  its  limbs.  So  firm  was  its  hold 
that  the  victim  could  not  possibly  escape.  The  fore 
tarsi  of  the  fly  were  hooked  round  the  anterior  edge  of 
the  front  wings  of  the  moth  ;  the  median  tarsi  similarly 
held  the  hind  wings  ;  the  hind  tarsi  closely  grasped  the 
sides  of  the  moth's  abdomen,  while  the  beak  of  the 
Asilid  was  driven  deep  into  the  thorax  a  little  to 
the  right  of  the  median  line.  In  such  a  grip  a  moth  is 
helpless  ;  its  wings  and  abdomen  are  held  as  in  a  vice. 
It  resists,  but  its  struggles  are  in  vain.  It  rapidly  dies 
as  its  juices  are  sucked  away.  What  strikes  the  mind 
in  a  contest  of  this  nature  is  the  skill  with  which  the 
Asilid  controls  the  wings  of  its  prey  and  the  strength 
of  its  grasp  from  which  there  is  no  possible  escape. 
This  insect  needs  no  poison  to  stupefy  its  captures. 
Its  strength  and  skill  suffice  for  all  its  needs.  It  can 
overcome  so  powerful  an  insect  as  the  cicada,  and  one 
so  well  armed  as  the  humble-bee. 

I  paid  more  attention  to  those  very  common  little 
water-bugs,  the  Noto7ieciid(E,  known  popularly  as 
water-boatmen.  They  were  the  most  numerous 
element  in  the  society  of  the  pool.  I  often  wondered 
why  the  frogs  did  not  attack  the  boatmen,  for  it 
was  obvious  that  they  never  attempted  to  seize  them, 
though  the  boatmen  often  nibbled  at  the  frog's  hind 
legs.  I  thought  that  most  probably  the  boatmen  were 
possessed  of  an  unpleasant  taste  ;  yet  this  was  not 
so,  for  the  frogs  eagerly  devoured  dead  boatmen  when 
thrown  into  the  pool.  The  Notonectidcc  escape  the 
frogs  by  their  great  activity.  The  frogs  recognize 
their  inferior  skill  and  never  attempt  to  attack  the 
boatmen.     They   have    learnt    that   for    these  insects 


OBSERVATIONS    ON   INSECT   LIFE     169 

they  are  no  match.  Thanks  to  their  nimbleness  the 
water-boatmen  are  secure  from  attack.  The  only 
creature  that  I  have  seen  successful  in  capturing  them 
has  been  the  water-scorpion,  Nepa,  and  it  succeeds  by 
its  stealth  rather  than  by  skill.  It  lies  in  ambush  until 
a  boatman  comes  between  its  wide-opened  anterior 
legs  furnished  with  strong  blades.  Then  suddenly 
the  blades  come  sharp  together  and  the  boatman  is 
secured. 

The  Noto7iectidc€  are  predaceous  in  their  habits. 
They  capture  the  small  insects  that  tumble  into  the 
pool.  One  peculiarity  in  their  mode  of  feeding 
interested  me.  Anybody,  who  has  carefully  watched 
these  water-bugs,  must  have  noticed  that  at  intervals 
they  swim  down  into  the  water  and  maintain  them- 
selves absolutely  stationary  some  little  distance 
beneath  the  surface  by  very  rapid  vibrations  of  their 
hind  limbs,  specially  modified  for  the  purpose  of 
swimminpf.  I  could  not  understand  the  sigrnificance 
of  this  habit  until  I  saw  the  boatmen  dealing  with 
their  insect  prey.  I  noticed  that,  immediately  after 
capturing  an  insect  on  the  surface,  the  boatman  would 
descend  with  its  victim  and  literally  hover  beneath  the 
water  with  its  struggling  capture  until  the  insect  was 
drowned.  I  therefore  conclude  that  this  habit  of 
repeated  submergence  has  been  developed  by  the 
boatmen  to  enable  them  to  drown  their  insect  prey. 

The  boatmen  do  not  confine  their  attacks  to  the 
smallest  insects,  as  their  powers  of  swimming  are 
sufficiently  strong  for  a  single  insect  to  drag  beneath 
the  water  and  drown  a  beetle  six  or  eight  times  its 
own  size.  They  are  cannibals,  not  only  eating  their 
own     dead     comrades,     but     attacking     them     when 


170       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

wounded  or  dying.  Water-boatmen,  when  handled, 
sometimes  give  a  sharp  bite.  I  am  sure  they  inject 
a  small  dose  of  poison,  as  the  numbness  remains  for 
twenty-four  hours  and  resembles  that  of  a  bee-sting. 
I  suspect  that  the  boatmen,  in  addition  to  drowning 
their  prey,  possess  also  the  power  of  injecting  poison 
into  the  insect,  especially  if  its  struggles  make  it 
difficult  to  control. 

The  manner  In  which  these  insects  swim  on  their 
backs  is  their  most  interesting  feature.  The  long 
hind  legs  make  a  most  perfect  pair  of  paddles,  and  the 
plan  on  which  they  work  may  be  easily  observed 
when  the  boatman  is  placed  in  a  glass  of  water.  From 
the  posterior  margin  of  the  tibia  and  tarsus  there  is 
directed  backwards  a  double  fringe  of  delicate  hairs. 
At  each  thrust  of  the  limbs  these  two  fringes  separate; 
the  hairs  spread  out  so  as  to  form  a  broad  resisting 
blade  through  the  medium  of  which  the  pressure  is 
exerted  on  the  water.  As  the  limb  is  again  brought 
forward  the  fringes  collapse,  and  a  narrow  edge, 
offering  the  minimum  of  resistance,  is  now  presented 
to  the  water.  We  know  that  in  flight  the  point  of 
the  wing  of  a  bird  or  insect  not  only  moves  to  and  fro 
but  traces  in  the  air  a  succession  of  ellipses.  I  think 
it  is  possible  to  detect  a  similar  motion  in  the 
swimming-paddles  of  the  water-boatmen.  They  not 
only  oscillate  but  also  rotate.  It  is  difficult  to  follow 
this  in  the  rapidity  of  their  motion,  but,  when  I  placed 
the  insects  in  a  glass  of  water  coloured  with  methylene 
blue,  I  felt  certain  I  could  see  the  particles  of  pigment 
being  whirled  round  in  a  spiral  at  each  rotation  of 
the  limbs ;  but  it  is  difficult  to  be  confident  of  this 
observation. 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   INSECT   LIFE     171 

I  made  a  few  experiments  to  test  the  special  senses 
of  the  NotonectidcB.  I  think  that  they  appreciate  the 
events  in  their  own  Httle  world  almost  solely  through 
the  organs  of  sight  and  touch.  It  is  obvious  that  they 
possess  the  power  of  vision.  One  has  only  to  look 
at  their  large  eyes  and  observe  the  manner  in  which 
they  dart  under  the  water  at  one's  approach  to  a  pool 
to  be  satisfied  that  their  sense  of  sight  is  acute.  They 
do  not  appear  to  be  fastidious  in  their  taste.  I  drop 
some  evil-smelling  Heteroptera  and  other  nauseous 
insects  into  the  pool  ;  the  boatmen  dart  out  and 
eagerly  devour  them.  I  throw  some  bitter  alkaloids 
into  the  water,  but  the  boatmen  take  no  notice.  I 
place  some  boatmen  in  a  basin  of  water  and  let  fall 
close  to  them  a  few  drops  of  a  solution  of  quinine  ; 
the  boatmen  remain  unaffected  ;  the  quinine  no  more 
disturbs  them  than  the  fall  of  drops  of  water.  I  throw 
them  some  insects  injected  with  quinine  ;  the  bitter 
morsels  are  eagerly  devoured.  I  give  to  one  a  frag- 
ment of  a  strychnine  tablet ;  it  is  seized  and  carried 
down  beneath  the  water  as  though  it  was  an 
appetizing  prey.  I  cannot,  therefore,  think  that  the 
NotonectidcB  possess  much  sense  of  taste.  I  doubt  if 
their  power  of  smell  is  any  more  acute.  They 
certainly  did  not  behave  like  ants  and  spiders  and 
recoil  from  the  presence  of  camphor,  but,  rather, 
dealt  with  it  in  the  same  way  as  they  treated  the 
strychnine.  Nor  does  their  sense  of  hearing  enlarge 
much  further  their  prospect  on  life,  for,  if  care  be 
taken  that  the  experimenter  is  not  seen  by  them,  he 
may  shout,  clap  hands  or  blow  shrill  whistles  without 
alarming  them  in  the  slightest.  It  is,  I  believe, 
through  the  sense  of  touch  that  they  "live  and  move 


172       A  NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

and  have  their  beinof."  The  moment  the  tiniest  insect 
falls  on  the  water  the  boatman  is  instantly  aware  of 
the  surface  vibrations  and  darts  like  lightning  on  its 
prey. 

A  few  experiments  will  soon  make  evident  this 
delicate  sense  of  touch.  I  place  some  boatmen  in  a 
basin  of  water  ;  they  swim  about  content.  I  approach 
one  with  the  point  of  a  fine  needle.  It  takes  no 
notice.  I  bring  the  needle  so  as  almost  to  touch  the 
boatman,  but  it  excites  no  sense  and  the  boatman 
hovers  on.  I  lower  the  point  till  it  touches  the  water. 
The  boatman  is  instantly  aroused  ;  it  springs  forward 
on  the  needle.  The  sense  of  touch  through  contact 
with  the  water  stimulates  the  insect.  It  would  not  be 
so  foolish  as  to  dart  upon  a  needle  had  vision  been  its 
guide.  But  it  is  easy  to  make  still  more  certain  that 
it  is  touch  and  not  sioht  which  cjuides  the  boatmen  to 
their  prey.  I  stand  a  glass  tumbler  in  a  basin  of 
water.  I  pour  water  into  the  tumbler  until  it  reaches 
the  same  level  as  the  fluid  outside.  I  now  place  six 
boatmen  in  the  basin  and  they  swim  about  content. 
I  throw  them  some  insects  ;  the  boatmen  dart  on 
them,  plunge  beneath  the  surface  to  drown  and 
devour  them.  At  a  distance  of  six  inches  they  feel 
the  prey  touch  the  water  and  dash  forward  to  the 
capture.  I  now  throw  some  insects  into  the  tumbler. 
They  fall  on  the  water  standing  at  the  same  level  as 
the  water  in  the  basin.  The  boatmen  are  swimming 
outside  ;  the  insects  fall  within  the  glass.  The  insects 
fall  close  to  the  boatmen,  but  the  glass  intervenes  and 
the  boatmen  take  no  notice.  I  throw  an  insect  into 
the  orlass  when  the  boatman  is  on  the  water  outside 
not  half  an  inch  away,  but  it   remains  quite  oblivious 


OBSERVATIONS   ON    INSECT   LIFE     173 

of  anything  that  has  occurred.  The  glass  intercepts 
the  surface  vibrations  of  the  water  ;  it  cannot  affect 
the  boatman's  vision.  The  boatman  can  well  appre- 
ciate the  direction  from  which  the  vibrations  come. 
I  approach  one  with  a  needle  and  touch  the  water 
with  the  point.  The  boatman  is  aroused  but  it  does 
not  act  aimlessly  ;  it  first  turns  about  so  as  to  face 
the  point  where  the  needle  touches  the  water  before 
makino-  its  unerring  stroke.  This  tactile  sense  is 
exquisite.  The  boatman  is  not  disturbed  by  vibrations 
other  than  surface  tremors.  It  is  not  misled  by  the 
ripples  of  the  wind.  I  tap  the  sides  and  bottom  of 
the  basin,  but  this  will  not  excite  the  insect.  Visible 
ripples  may  flow  across  the  basin,  but  the  boatman 
is  not  deceived,  I  will  mention  a  more  remarkable 
instance  as  a  proof  of  the  nicety  of  this  tactile  sense. 
I  drop  some  fragments  of  cork  into  the  basin,  and  the 
boatmen,  feeling  the  vibrations,  instantly  spring  upon 
them.  I  allow  the  same  pieces  of  cork  to  strike  the 
surface  by  floating  up  through  the  water  from  below, 
and  the  boatman  takes  no  notice.  In  both  cases  the 
surface  vibrations  spread  over  the  surface  of  the  water. 
In  one  the  contact  is  from  above,  in  the  other  from 
below,  and  the  boatmen  can  discriminate  between 
them. 

It  seems  most  probable  that  it  is  on  one  of  the 
parts  of  the  insect  in  contact  with  the  surface  of 
the  water  that  the  sensitive  organs  of  touch  will  be 
developed.  Those  parts  are  the  tarsi  of  the  first  two 
pairs  of  limbs  and  the  tip  of  the  abdomen.  Now  just 
at  the  base  of  the  claws  of  the  intermediate  tarsi  there 
is  a  specialized  tuft  of  delicate  hairs,  and  I  have 
thought  that  these  might  have  been  the  highly  sensitive 


174       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

organs  of  touch.  These  creatures  possess,  so  far  as 
I  could  see,  no  trace  of  antennse,  and  are  therefore 
deprived  of  one  organ  very  essential  to  insect  life. 
The  conjecture  of  course  arises  that  to  a  land  insect 
an  antenna  is  a  very  necessary  organ,  but  for  a  water 
insect  the  hairs  on  the  tips  of  the  tarsi  can  fulfil  the 
function  better  since  the  detection  of  surface  vibra- 
tions is  so  important  to  its  life.  When  the  insects  left 
the  land  and  sought  an  existence  in  the  water  the 
antennse  underwent  degeneration  and  the  sensitive 
organ  was  developed  elsewhere.  Nor  is  it  difficult  to 
picture  the  organs  in  an  intermediate  state,  when  the 
antennae  were  degenerate  and  the  sensitive  hairs  only 
partially  developed. 

It  is  not  unreasonable  to  believe  that  water  insects 
attained  their  present  mode  of  life  in  the  pools  and 
streams  as  a  consequence  of  a  gradual  change  from 
terrestrial  to  aquatic  habits  in  remote  ancestors  that 
once  lived  upon  the  land.  In  this  connection  it  is 
interesting  to  observe  that  these  water-boatmen  will 
occasionally  scramble  out  of  the  pool  to  take  a  short 
walk  along  the  bank,  and  when  they  do  this,  they 
revert  to  the  normal  insect  posture  ;  they  no  longer 
move  upon  their  backs,  but  walk  about  on  their  legs 
after  the  manner  of  their  terrestrial  ancestors. 

In  the  society  of  the  streams  and  pools  all  the 
members  live  in  continual  conflict.  I  passed  many 
evenings  watching  the  incessant  struggle  for  life. 
Not  a  cloud  in  the  clear  sky  ;  not  the  gentlest  breeze  ; 
not  a  sound  in  the  mountains  to  disturb  the  tranquil 
scene.  One  would  think  that  in  these  placid  pools 
Nature  was  happy  and  at  peace.  But  no.  War  and 
destruction  reign  everywhere  in  Nature.     As  I  walk 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   INSECT   LIFE     175 

along-  the  margin  of  the  pool,  insects  start  up  from 
the  dried  grass.  Locusts  tumble  into  the  pool  and 
are  swallowed  by  greedy  frogs  lying  in  wait  upon  the 
surface.  Smaller  insects,  in  their  efforts  to  escape, 
fall  a  prey  to  a  shoal  of  water-bugs  and  are  suffocated 
in  the  stream.  Others,  that  escape  the  water,  meet 
their  enemies  in  the  air.  The  larger  kinds  may  be 
seized  by  insectivorous  birds  ;  the  robber-flies  watch 
for  intermediate  forms,  and  the  winged  ants  or  tiny 
Diptera  are  pounced  on  by  the  clragon-flies  that 
methodically  work  along  the  stream.  Spiders  that 
spin  their  snares  across  the  pool  live  a  life  of  continual 
carnage.  They  destroy  and  they  are  themselves 
destroyed.  Insectivorous  birds  may  spy  them,  or  a 
spider  may  drop  too  far  upon  its  filamentous  thread 
and  fall  into  the  jaws  of  a  ravenous  frog,  while  down 
below  in  ambush  amongst  the  green  weeds  are  the 
patient  crabs  to  whom  the  frogs  themselves  are  prey. 
It  is  a  merciless  and  cruel  battle  between  all  the 
inhabitants  of  the  pool ;  there  is  no  rest  from  the 
continual  warfare,  no  prospect  of  peace.  To  each 
occupant  the  little  pool  is  a  world  and  all  the  world  is 
at  war. 

A  few  fish  occupied  the  streams,  but  I  observed 
nothing  of  special  interest  in  them.  At  the  entrance 
to  the  valley,  however,  was  a  sacred  tank,  thronged 
with  fish,  so  tame  and  so  dependent  on  their  owners 
that  they  must  be  considered  as  domesticated 
creatures.  These  fish  are  objects  of  veneration 
amongst  the  Hindu  Pandits.  They  may  not  be 
captured,  but  I  feel  sure  they  are  the  common  species 
of  mahseer,  Barbus  tor.  The  fish  grow  to  a  large  size 
and  people  the  tank  in  such  numbers  that,  were  they 


176       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

not  artificially  fed,  only  a  fraction  of  them  could 
survive.  The  Pandits  care  for  them,  feed  them, 
protect  them  from  injury,  and,  in  return,  derive  a 
small  livelihood  by  displaying  to  strangers,  in  the 
hope  of  reward,  these  living  objects  of  their  veneration. 

The  introduction  of  the  fish  into  the  tank  and  the 
kind  care  taken  of  them  by  their  owners  has  greatly 
changed  the  character  of  the  fish.  From  a  shy 
creature  defying  the  angler's  skill,  it  is  transformed 
into  an  animal  that  regards  man  as  its  protector  and 
support.  So  fearless  have  they  become  that,  when  the 
priest  approaches  the  wall  of  the  tank,  the  fish  advance 
to  meet  him,  and  either  take  the  food  directly  from 
his  hand,  or  dash  after  the  fragments,  struggling  and 
leaping  in  such  a  seething  shoal  that  the  placid  water 
seems  to  boil  within  the  tank.  That  a  fish  can 
recognize  its  keeper  and  advance  to  meet  him,  and 
that  it  can  so  change  its  mode  of  action  as  to  appear 
to  regard  man  no  longer  as  an  enemy  but  as  a  friend, 
seems  to  imply  some  degree  of  mentality  and  possibly 
a  dim  shadow  of  consciousness. 

It  has  always  seemed  to  me  remarkable  how  feeble 
is  the  manifestation  of  conscious  life  in  the  higher 
fishes  which  possess  a  nervous  system  of  such 
comparatively  advanced  structure.  The  intensity  of 
their  emotions  is  clear.  The  anger  of  the  males  in 
sexual  rivalry  or  their  solicitude  in  parental  love  are 
the  outbursts  of  glowing  passions  that  demand  no 
conscious  effort  for  their  fulfilment.  But  the  fact  that 
these  creatures  can  so  change  their  existence  under 
unusual  conditions  as  to  hasten  towards  a  being 
that  before  would  terrify  them,  and  to  behave  in  his 
presence  as    though    he   were   not    an   enemy    but   a 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   INSECT   LIFE     177 

friend,  seems  to  suggest  some  glimmer  of  consciousness 
and  perhaps  a  tiny  gleam  of  reason. 

Next  to  the  ants,  no  insects  in  the  valley  interested 
me  more  than  the  various  kinds  of  bees  and  wasps 
with  their  many  peculiar  instincts.  The  widespread 
species,  Vespa  orientalis,  that  extends  into  Northern 
Africa  and  Southern  Europe,  was  very  common  in  the 
district.  I  sometimes  watched  a  continual  stream  of 
these  wasps,  large,  brown,  ferocious-looking  insects 
with  bright  yellow  bands  on  their  abdomens,  passing 
backwards  and  forwards.  Those  passing  in  the  one 
direction  were  laden  with  a  rich  store  of  provender, 
and  those  in  the  opposite  direction  were  returning 
empty  for  a  fresh  load.  It  was  a  perfect  picture  of 
insect  industry  and  labour.  I  once  followed  the  living 
stream  across  the  country.  At  length  I  found  the 
nest  in  the  wall  of  a  neighbouring  village,  and  from 
there  I  traced  back  for  over  a  mile  the  line  of  busy 
workers  and  did  not  even  then  reach  the  furthest 
limits  of  their  toil.  Over  the  granite  rocks,  across 
the  open  plains,  high  above  the  village  roofs  and  the 
waving  fields  of  corn,  the  stream  of  insect  labour 
moved  in  one  continuous  flow.  What  sense  was 
guiding  them  in  their  unerring  road  ?  What  force 
impelled  them  in  the  same  unswerving  line,  to  chose  a 
course  direct,  undeviating  and  headlong  to  their  nest? 
It  may  have  been  the  rocks  and  trees  that  were  the 
landmarks  on  their  route,  but  I  greatly  doubt  it.  To 
see  a  wasp  sailing  in  an  unerring  flight  high  over  a 
broad  expanse  of  corn  and  shaping  a  course  direct  for 
its  distant  nest,  was  to  feel  that  some  other  sense  than 
sight  impelled  it,  for  to  a  wasp  a  rolling  field  of  corn 
must  be  as  trackless  as  a  boundless  ocean. 

N 


178       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

Far  and  wide  these  wasps  had  scattered  over  the 
country.  Wherever  filth  and  refuse  had  accumulated 
there  were  the  wasps  to  be  seen  searching  every 
corner  for  a  precious  burden.  Down  the  village 
street,  exploring  every  nook  and  cranny  in  the  foul 
bazars,  boldly  entering  every  shop,  busy  amongst  the 
mules  and  camels  of  our  transport  and  far  around 
over  the  fertile  fields,  these  industrious  insects  were 
engaged  from  morning  to  night  in  a  continual  search 
for  plunder.  Fragments  of  decomposing  meat,  decay- 
ing remnants  of  fish  or  anything  of  a  sugary  nature 
was  enveloped  in  a  swarm,  torn  into  pieces  by  a 
hundred  busy  jaws  and  carried  off  to  the  nest.  These 
wasps,  at  certain  times,  are  the  natural  scavengers  of 
the  country.  With  the  kites,  the  pariah  dogs  and  the 
dung-rolling  beetles,  they  help  to  cleanse  the  village  of 
its  refuse. 

At  one  place  they  had  crowded  round  a  dead 
pigeon.  Nothing  was  left  of  the  flesh  but  a  few  tough 
fragments  on  the  wings  which  the  wasps  were  unable 
to  separate  from  the  bases  of  the  quills.  They 
dragged  about  the  feathers  and  the  whole  wings  in  the 
attempt  to  bite  away  the  hard  fibres,  and  one  of  them, 
unable  to  detach  the  flesh  and  unwilling  to  desert  its 
provender,  sailed  away  for  the  nest  carrying  in  its  tiny 
claws  a  large  pinion  almost  five  inches  in  length.  It 
was  amusing  to  watch  the  insect  struggling  in  the  air 
laden  with  this  strange  burden.  The  breeze  seized 
the  broad  vane  of  the  feather  ;  the  wasp  was  wafted 
about  by  every  wind  and  sometimes  whirled  around  in 
circles  in  the  air,  yet  it  still  struggled  on,  and  at  every 
interval  of  calm  it  renewed  its  efforts  to  make  direct 
for  the  nest.     All  the  changing  and  eddying  breezes, 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   INSECT   LIFE     179 

though  they  turned  the  wasp  about  in  every  direction, 
could  not  confuse  its  guiding  sense  and  turn  it  from 
the  true  road. 

I  gave  the  wasps  one  of  their  own  dead  comrades. 
The  cannibals  rushed  upon  it.  One  seized  the  body  in 
its  claws  and  endeavoured  to  rise  into  the  air,  but, 
powerful  as  are  the  wings  of  these  insects,  they  are 
unable  to  raise  twice  the  body-weight,  so  the  wasp 
had  to  cease  its  efforts.  Then  a  companion  appeared 
on  the  scene.  One  seized  the  dead  comrade  by  the 
head,  the  other  by  the  abdomen  ;  they  both  drove 
their  strong  mandibles  into  the  thorax  and  soon 
divided  the  wasp  just  in  front  of  the  wings.  The 
one  grasped  the  head  and  made  off  straightway 
on  its  journey  ;  the  other  struggled  with  the  larger 
share,  rose  twice,  and  again  fell  beneath  the  heavy 
weight,  but,  rising  higher  in  the  third  effort,  it  at 
last  took  wing  for  the  nest,  to  add  the  body 
of  its  dead  companion  to  the  food  of  the  growing 
larvae. 

Vespa  orientalis  used  to  construct  its  nest  in  the 
mud  walls  or  roofs  of  the  village  houses.  Through  a 
narrow  aperture  the  wasps  enter  into  a  spacious 
chamber  in  which  is  suspended  the  papery  comb  with 
its  rows  of  hexagonal  cells,  I  noticed  that  this  wasp 
was  in  the  habit  of  ventilating  its  nest  by  creating  a 
current  of  air  with  the  rapid  vibration  of  its  wings.  I 
observed  two  wasps  stationed  at  the  aperture  of  the 
nest  fanning  with  all  their  strength.  It  seemed  clear 
that  their  object  was  to  direct  a  current  of  fresh  cool 
air  into  the  interior  of  the  tunnel. 

These  wasps  also  post  a  sentinel  at  the  nest  aperture. 
The  sentry  is  most  earnest  in  its  duty.      It  challenges 


180       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

each  new  arrival,  possibly  examines  each  burden  as 
to  its  fitness  for  the  store,  or  identifies  each  worker 
before  it  gives  admission  in  order  to  prevent  the 
intrusion  of  a  stranger.  Sometimes,  as  though  in 
doubt,  it  pursues  a  worker  into  the  interior  of  the  nest. 
It  pays  less  attention  to  the  departing  wasps  ;  it  seems 
to  care  little  whether  they  leave  empty  or  carry  a 
little  load  of  earth  from  the  interior  of  the  tunnel. 
As  one  ant  knows  every  other  in  the  nest,  so  it  may 
be  that  this  sentinel  knows  all  others  in  its  own 
community,  and  is  placed  there  to  prevent  a  stranger 
from  entering  the  precious  store. 

Another  species  of  wasp,  Polistes  hebrcBUs,  adopted 
a  method  similar  to  that  of  Vespa  of  vibrating  its 
wings  to  lower  the  temperature  of  its  nest.  A  colony 
of  these  wasps  had  built  a  large  nest  in  a  rose  tree 
close  to  the  verandah  of  my  bungalow.  The  nest 
consisted  of  a  circular  comb  hanging  from  a  central 
stem  and  built  of  a  single  layer  of  hexagonal  cells,  all 
closed  above  and  with  the  open  ends  directed  down- 
wards. I  noticed  that  in  their  efforts  to  cool  their 
larvae  they  acted  much  like  the  Vespa.  The  nest  was 
so  situated  that,  throughout  almost  the  whole  day,  it 
was  shaded  from  the  sun  by  the  surrounding  trees ; 
but,  in  the  early  morning,  the  sun,  while  still  low  on 
the  horizon,  could  peep  below  an  overhanging  shrub 
and  fall  on  one  margin  of  the  nest.  As  a  consequence 
the  cells  at  this  margin  became  uncomfortably  warm 
and  gave  the  wasps  much  trouble  in  their  labours  to 
keep  them  cool.  It  was  instructive  to  watch  a  worker- 
wasp  creeping  about  over  the  heated  cells,  testing 
each  one  with  its  sensitive  antennae.  As  soon  as  it 
discovered  a  cell  which  it  considered  too  warm  for  the 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   INSECT   LIEE     181 

contained  larva,  it  would  stand  over  the  spot,  violently 
vibrate  its  wings  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  continue 
to  repeat  this  remarkable  process  until  the  draught 
of  air,  thus  produced,  had  sufficiently  cooled  the 
cell.  I  never  saw  workers  cooling  any  part  of  the 
comb  except  that  warmed  by  the  early  morning  sun, 
nor  did  they  ever  fmd  any  necessity  to  do  so  once 
the  sun  had  so  risen  in  the  heavens  as  to  be  no 
longer  able  to  peep  beneath  the  overhanging  verdure. 
It  was  by  means  of  the  antennae  that  the  wasp  ap- 
peared to  judge  if  the  cell  required  cooling,  so  that 
I  suspect  that  the  antennae,  in  addition  to  other 
functions,  also  possess  the  sense  of  judging  changes 
in  temperature. 

This  cooling  of  the  cells  by  fanning  is  probably  a 
satisfactory  process.  It  is  not  a  customary  habit  of 
Polistes,  as  the  species  seldom  hangs  its  nest  in  a 
sunny  place.  We  may  perhaps  regard  it  as  an  early 
stage  in  the  evolution  of  that  far  more  complex  system 
by  which  relays  of  workers,  all  fanning  in  regular 
order,  can  ventilate  with  a  fresh  current  of  air  the 
dark  hive  of  the  honey-bee. 

There  is  another  slight  resemblance  between  the 
Polistes  and  the  honey-bee.  Polistes  loves  to  suspend 
its  nest  from  the  roofs  of  dark  verandahs  or  the  ceilings 
of  disused  rooms,  yet  it  sometimes  chooses  to  build  in 
the  shelter  of  a  thick  bush,  or  even  on  the  branch  of 
an  exposed  tree.  The  hive-bee  also,  especially  the 
form  known  as  Apis  dorsata,  has  been  known  to  build 
in  the  open  when  no  hollow  tree  is  to  be  found.  It 
probably  once  possessed  the  habits  of  Polistes,  some- 
times building  on  an  exposed  branch,  but  usually 
seeking  a  shady  place  ;    and  when  now  a   European 


182       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

honey-bee  constructs  its  comb  in  the  open  air  we 
perhaps  see  a  relic  of  a  more  general  ancestral  habit 
when  it  once  lived  in  a  tropical  clime. 

Another  conspicuous  member  of  the  Vespidcc  in 
the  Western  Himalaya  is  Vespa  magnificat  one  of  the 
largest  and  most  powerful  of  the  species.  The  queens, 
which  fly  about  early  in  the  season,  are  ferocious- 
looking  insects  ;  they  are  almost  an  inch  and  a  half  in 
length,  of  a  dark  brown  colour,  with  the  base  of  the 
antenntE  a  bright  orange,  and  the  whole  body  covered 
in  a  silky  golden  pile.  The  point  of  interest  in  the 
life  of  this  wasp  is  the  habit  it  has  of  making  depreda- 
tions on  the  hives  of  the  honey-bees.  I  observed  it 
attacking  the  swarm  on  different  occasions.  The 
honey-bees,  Apis  indie  a,  had  settled  in  a  hollow  tree. 
The  workers  were  busy  entering  and  leaving  the 
aperture,  and  there  was  an  appearance  of  bustle  and 
energy  about  the  hive.  Some  of  the  workers  were,  as 
usual,  creeping  lazily  about  the  opening  as  though  they 
had  no  special  duties  to  perform.  Suddenly  a  queen 
of  V.  magnifica  appeared  in  the  vicinity  of  the  nest. 
It  hovered  about  the  entrance  giving  utterance  to  an 
angry  buzz.  The  workers  feared  the  intruder ;  at 
intervals  one  of  them  would  dash  at  it  in  a  vain  and 
timid  effort  to  drive  the  enemy  away.  But  the  Vcspa 
came  in  closer  to  the  hive,  and  after  some  hesitation 
made  a  sudden  swoop  on  one  of  the  more  sluggish 
workers,  which  it  bore  away  in  its  jaws.  In  four 
minutes  it  again  returned,  seized  another  worker,  and 
this  time  I  distinctly  saw  it  turn  forward  its  abdomen 
to  plunge  its  sting  into  the  body  of  its  prey.  It  then 
made  off  to  a  neighbouring  branch,  where  the  victim 
was  devoured.     A   Vespa  worker  then  appeared  and 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   INSPXT   LIFE     183 

joined  in  the  act  of  plunder.  It  did  not  attack  with 
the  same  gallantry  as  the  queen  ;  it  was  very  unwilling 
to  approach  the  hive,  and  only  at  a  favourable  moment 
would  it  dart  in  upon  its  prey. 

On  another  occasion  I  saw  the  Vespa  plundering 
the  compact  swarm.  The  bees  had  gathered  into  a 
seething  globular  mass.  They  hung  suspended  from 
a  branch,  a  trembling  globe  replete  with  danger  and 
quivering  with  angry  life.  A  few  workers  were 
leaving  ;  many  more  were  arriving  to  join  the  clustered 
swarm.  A  Vespa  magnijica  appeared.  It  hovered 
about  the  black  heaving  mass,  but  it  feared  to  come 
too  close.  It  never  dared  to  extract  a  worker  from 
the  swarm.  It  awaited  its  chance  a  little  distance 
away  and  occasionally  fell  upon  a  vagrant  worker  as 
it  was  about  to  leave  or  join  the  throng.  The  Vespa 
magnijica  is  therefore  a  plundering  and  rapacious 
species,  and  I  have  no  doubt,  from  the  way  these 
wasps  systematically  remove  victim  after  victim,  that 
they  must  work  great  destruction  amongst  the  hives 
of  the  Himalayan  honey-bees. 

Wasps  and  bees  occasionally  mimic  other  insects  to 
which  they  bear  a  close  resemblance  both  in  structure 
and  habits.  Some  of  the  digger-wasps  are  very  simi- 
lar in  appearance  to  certain  ants.  Amongst  a  number 
of  ants  belonging  to  the  species  Camponotus  cojnpressus 
that  were  seeking  for  aphides  on  a  rose  bush  I  noticed 
a  little  Pompllid  wasp  running  eagerly  about.  It 
resembled  the  ants  even  to  minute  points  in  its  anatom- 
ical structure  ;  it  moved  with  the  same  jerky  gait ;  it 
vibrated  its  antennae  in  a  similar  manner  and  system- 
atically searched  each  leaf  just  as  though  it  was  a, 
Carnponotus  ant, 


18 1       A  NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

This  close  resemblance  between  insects  of  different 
orders  has  been  observed  in  different  parts  of  the 
globe.  Another  instance  specially  struck  me,  though 
it  has  frequently  been  noticed  before,  of  the  extra- 
ordinary similarity  in  the  external  appearance  of  the 
flies,  Bornbyliiis,  to  the  humble-bees,  Bombus. 

The  common  humble-bee  in  these  hills  was  Bombus 
tunicatus.  It  used  to  frequent  the  wooded  slopes  at 
an  altitude  of  8000  feet,  and  there  it  busied  itself 
amongst  the  flowers  that  blossom  above  the  under- 
growth. Now  the  coloration  of  this  bee  is  very 
distinctive.  It  displays  a  black  shining  head,  a  thorax 
hoary  white  with  a  black  band  between  the  wings,  an 
abdomen  with  three  successive  bars  of  white  and  black 
and  red.  We  look  to  the  fly  and  see  an  identical 
coloration  :  the  same  black  head ;  the  same  pubes- 
cent thorax  with  its  hoary  fur  and  intermediate  band 
of  black  ;  the  same  abdomen  with  its  bars  in  the  same 
order,  white  and  black  and  red.  In  fact  the  insects 
are  marked  from  head  to  tail  with  seven  transverse 
bands,  and  these  bands  are  identical  in  each.  Such 
superficial  resemblance  is  remarkable.  For  it  is 
evident  not  only  in  the  exact  shade  of  coloration, 
but  in  the  width  of  each  band,  and  the  general  scheme 
of  decoration  is  identical  in  both.  Similarly  it  is  with 
the  shape  and  build  of  the  insects  and  the  buzzing 
sounds  that  they  produce.  They  occupy  the  same 
stations  and  feed  on  the  same  flowers.  If  defence  is 
gained  by  this  resemblance  it  must  be  all  in  favour  of 
the  fly.  And  this  would  seem  in  accordance  with  the 
principles  of  mimicry.  For  the  fly  is  the  more 
defenceless  of  the  two ;  it  exists  in  much  fewer 
numbers  than  the  bee  ;  it  is  a  rnore  wary  and  active 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   INSECT   LIFE     185 

insect,  tending  to  keep  more  in  the  shady  under- 
growth and  less  on  the  open  flowers. 

Humble-bees  are  well  known  to  play  an  important 
part  in  the  fertilization  of  many  flowers.  It  was 
instructive  to  watch  the  untiring  industry  with  which 
they  sought  the  nectar  from  a  pretty  little  blue  blossom, 
the  Strobilanthus  dalhousianus.  In  this  act  they 
showed  a  good  example  of  the  variability  of  instinct, 
how  different  individuals  of  the  same  species  will  each 
employ  its  own  method  in  order  to  attain  a  common 
end.  For  some  of  the  bees  were  in  the  habit  of 
pushing  their  way  into  the  interior  of  the  funnel- 
shaped  blossoms  in  order  to  reach  the  nectar,  while 
others  had  learnt  to  adopt  the  simpler  plan  of  drilling 
a  hole  with  their  mandibles  through  the  base  of  the 
corolla  and  in  this  way  secured  the  nectar  by  a  shorter 
route.  Now  this  variation  in  the  instinct  appears  to 
be  very  fixed  in  different  individuals,  each  always 
acting  in  its  own  peculiar  way  ;  for  I  once  watched  a 
pair  of  bees  belonging  to  the  species  Bombus  hcEmor- 
rhoidalis  actively  engaged  upon  a  profusion  of  Strobi- 
lanthus, and  of  the  two,  one  always  gained  its  end  by 
perforating  the  corolla,  while  the  other  persisted  in 
the  more  laborious  task  of  pushing  its  way  into  the 
interior  of  the  flowers. 

There  is  another  point  worth  notice  in  this  little 
observation.  I  suppose  it  is  reasonable  to  assume 
that  it  was  the  original  habit  of  the  humble-bees  to 
come  direct  to  the  mouth  of  the  blossom  in  the  same 
way  as  other  insects  and  to  reach  the  nectar  by  the 
obvious  route.  The  plan  of  cutting  a  hole  through 
the  corolla  is  a  new  device,  a  later  instinct  developed 
in  order  to  give  the  b^e?  less  trouble,  to  save  more  of 


186       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

their  valuable  time,  and  perhaps  to  allow  them  to 
secure  the  nectar  from  those  blossoms  which  are  too 
narrow  to  permit  their  entering  within.  The  behaviour 
of  the  bees  themselves  supplies  some  evidence  to  show 
that  this  supposition  is  true.  For  if  one  of  these 
perforating  bees  is  watched  with  a  little  care,  it  will 
be  seen  that  it  does  not  go  direct  to  the  place  where  it 
intends  to  perforate,  but  rather  reaches  the  base  of 
the  corolla  by  an  indirect  route.  It  always  goes  first 
to  the  open  mouth  of  the  flower,  then  runs  down 
along  the  outside  of  the  corolla  until  it  reaches  the 
point  where  it  is  accustomed  to  cut  through.  Why 
does  it  act  in  this  way  ?  Why  does  not  the  bee  go 
direct  to  the  base  of  the  corolla  ?  Why  does  it  go  first 
to  the  mouth  of  the  flower  ?  The  procedure  seems  a 
useless  one,  and  certainly  involves  the  bee  in  addi- 
tional labour  and  wastes  its  precious  time.  I  think 
there  is  something  to  be  learnt  from  the  act.  I  believe 
we  see  in  it  a  relic  of  the  past,  a  trace  of  that  older 
instinct  when  the  bee  was  accustomed  to  sip  the 
nectar  by  entering  the  interior  of  the  flower.  The 
bee  had  then  of  course  to  go  first  to  the  mouth  of  the 
blossom,  then  crawl  down  the  inside  of  the  funnel  in 
order  to  reach  the  nectar.  But  now,  although  the 
instinct  has  partly  changed  and  many  bees  secure 
their  nectar  by  cutting  through  the  base  of  the  petals, 
yet  the  relic  of  the  older  instinct  still  remains ;  the 
bees  still  persist  in  going  first  to  the  mouth  of  the 
blossom  and  then  run  down  the  outside  of  the  funnel, 
and  at  length  reach  the  point  of  perforation  by  a 
longer  and  indirect  route. 

The  act   is  a   kind   of  fossil    instinct ;    the   useless 
remnant  of  what  is  gone.     And  it  is  in  these  relics  of 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   INSECT   LIFE     187 

forgotten  habits  as  it  is  in  the  fragments  of  now  worth- 
less structures,  that  we  can  to-day  review  the  past 
incidents  and  changes  which  have  influenced  the  course 
of  organic  Hfe. 

Another  plant  visited  by  the  humble-bees  with 
untiring  energy  is  the  pretty  little  yellow  balsam, 
Impatiens  scabrida.  Both  the  humble-bees,  B.  tuni- 
catus  and  B.  hcEmorrhoidalis,  used  freely  to  fertilize 
this  balsam.  The  size  and  form  of  the  bell-shaped 
flowers  are  beautifully  adjusted  to  that  of  the  humble- 
bees.  There  is  just  sufficient  room  for  the  bee  to 
squeeze  itself  into  the  interior  of  the  bell  beneath 
the  overhanging  anthers,  and  in  so  doing  it  covers 
the  upper  surface  of  its  thorax  with  a  coat  of  viscid 
pollen.  When  the  flower  first  opens  the  pistil  is 
enclosed  within  the  compact  bunch  of  stamens  and 
is  thus  hidden  from  view,  but  later,  when  the  petals 
begin  to  shrivel,  the  stamens  fall  away  so  as  to  expose 
the  mature  stigma  and  bring  it  in  contact  with  the 
pollen-stained  thorax  of  every  fertilizing  bee. 

As  in  the  case  of  the  Strobilantktis,  the  bees  secure 
their  nectar  from  this  flower  also  by  two  methods, 
either  by  perforating  the  corolla  or  by  pushing  down 
into  the  interior  of  the  bell.  It  is  an  advantage  to  the 
plant  if  the  bees  enter  the  blossom,  since  in  this  way 
they  distribute  the  pollen  and  fertilize  other  flowers. 
It  is  an  advantage  to  the  bees  if  they  perforate  the 
corolla,  as  by  this  means  they  secure  the  nectar  by  an 
easier  and  shorter  route.  But  this  must  be  only  a 
temporary  gain  ;  in  the  end  they  would  also  be  the 
losers,  since  they  would  be  deprived  of  their  nectar  by 
fertilizing  no  flowers. 

Thus  there  is  a  ceaseless  competition  between  the 


188       A  NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

plant  and  the  insect.  The  balsam  is  always  striving 
to  adjust  its  blossoms  to  the  size  and  shape  of  the 
fertilizing  bee.  If  the  bell  grows  too  wide,  then  the 
bees  will  be  able  to  enter  without  touching  the  anthers  ; 
if  the  bell  grows  too  narrow,  then  the  bees  cannot 
enter  at  all,  and  they  will  then  adopt  the  new  plan  of 
perforating  the  base  of  the  petals.  In  either  case  the 
plant  will  be  the  loser,  as  the  bees  will  fail  to  fertilize 
the  flowers.  The  competition  is  no  doubt  incessant, 
and  only  those  plants  bearing  flowers  of  suitable  size 
and  shape  will  be  able  ultimately  to  survive.  Never- 
theless, the  plant  must  meet  with  great  success  in  the 
struggle,  since  it  is  a  dominant  species,  and  its  beauty 
is  now  spread  and  may  be  still  further  spreading  over 
the  wooded  slopes  of  the  Western  Himalaya. 

In  this  plan  of  perforating  the  base  of  the  corolla 
the  hive-bee  seems  to  be  lacking  in  the  instinct  so 
well  performed  by  the  less  social  humble-bee.  It  is 
amusing  to  watch  the  hive-bee  in  its  earnest  efforts 
to  secure  the  nectar  from  some  tubular  blossom  too 
narrow  to  permit  its  entering  within.  It  eagerly 
examines  the  outside  of  the  tube  ;  it  explores  with  its 
antennae  the  base  of  the  corolla  in  the  hope  of  finding 
a  way  in.  It  sometimes  meets  with  a  blossom  about 
to  fall  from  the  parent  stem,  and  in  this  way  discovers 
a  natural  aperture  through  which  it  can  insert  its 
tongue,  or  it  may  happen  to  alight  on  a  hole  previ- 
ously cut  by  a  humble-bee.  It  knows  well  the  exact 
spot  where  the  nectar  lies,  but  what  it  seems  quite 
unable  to  do  is  to  cut  an  aperture  for  itself.  It  cer- 
tainly seemed  a  little  strange  that  a  species  endowed 
with  such  mental  attributes  as  the  hive-bee,  in  which 
the   social   instincts  are  so  highly  developed   and  to 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   INSECT   LIFE     189 

which  the  faculty  of  inteHigence  has  so  often  been 
ascribed,  should  fail  in  a  simple  device  that  has  long 
since  been  discovered  by  a  number  of  the  less  gifted 
humble-bees. 

Towards  the  end  of  May  a  number  of  small  leaf- 
cutting-  bees,  belonging  to  the  species  Megachile 
ccphalotes,  determined  to  construct  their  nests  in  my 
bungalow.  They  selected  the  holes  that  once  held 
the  screws  for  the  hinges  of  an  old  doorway.  I  often 
used  to  watch  them  coming  during  the  heat  of  the  day 
carrying  their  burdens  to  the  screw-holes  and  lining 
their  tunnels  with  a  layer  of  leaves.  It  was  interest- 
ing to  observe  how  the  bee  used  to  take  the  edge  of 
the  leaf  between  its  jaws  and  work  all  round  the 
margin  licking  it  with  its  long  tongue,  and  covering 
the  edge  with  a  sticky  secretion  to  make  it  adhere 
firmly  to  the  underlying  leaves.  It  reminded  one  of 
a  human  being  licking  the  edge  of  an  envelope  in 
order  to  seal  it  down  over  a  letter.  And  the  resem- 
blance was  more  complete,  for  the  bee  would  often 
press  down  the  gummed  edge  with  its  mandibles  and, 
I  think  sometimes,  with  the  front  of  its  head,  just  as  a 
man  presses  down  the  edge  of  the  envelope  with  the 
fingers  in  order  to  make  it  firmly  stick. 

The  mud-wasps  of  the  genus  Bzcuienes  are  well 
known  in  India.  They  commonly  enter  houses  and 
construct  their  mud  nests  ag-ainst  the  walls  or  furniture 
of  the  room,  and  provision  the  cells  with  caterpillars 
as  food  for  the  larvae.  A  large  species,  E.  dimi- 
diatipennis,  used  to  make  a  flat  nest  of  smooth  clay 
on  the  wall  of  my  bedroom.  It  was  composed  of 
mud  without  the  trace  of  a  pebble.  One  evening  I 
discovered  that  a  species  of  mud-wasp  had  constructed 


190       A  NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

its  nest  beneath  an  overhanging  ledge  on  the  face  of  a 
chff  composed  of  a  fine  conglomerate.  Now  a  nest  of 
smooth,  pale  mud  lying  against  the  stones  of  this  cliff 
would  be  very  conspicuous,  and  I  felt  sure  that  the 
wasp  must  have  understood  this.  For  it  had  covered 
the  whole  surface  of  its  nest  with  pebbles  so  that  it 
was  very  difficult  to  differentiate  the  nest  from  the 
underlying  conglomerate.  The  rounded  stones,  with 
which  the  wasp  had  studded  its  nest,  were  compara- 
tively large,  many  over  a  quarter  of  an  inch  in  diameter, 
and  it  seemed  surprising  that  the  insect  could  carry  so 
substantial  a  load. 

I  was  deliohted  when  I  discovered  this  little  nest 
of  pebbles,  for  I  felt  certain  that  I  was  looking  at  a 
beautiful  instance  of  harmonization,  so  invisible  did 
the  nest  become  by  blending  with  the  conglomerate 
cliff  I  wrote  in  my  journal  that  "this  was  one  of  the 
prettiest  examples  that  I  had  seen  in  the  life  of  insects 
of  a  plastic  instinct  employed  to  so  useful  a  purpose, 
for  I  have  no  doubt  that  it  was  a  gain  to  the  species 
to  render  its  nest  invisible  through  harmony  with  its 
surroundings  by  covering  it  with  a  layer  of  the  same 
little  water-worn  pebbles  that  went  to  build  up  the 
conglomerate  cliff" 

But  I  was  making  a  grievous  error.  These  nests 
were  not  common,  and  for  some  weeks  I  could  find 
no  others  than  those  on  the  conglomerate  cliff,  until 
one  day  I  discovered  a  nest  of  four  cells  implanted  on 
a  smooth  slab  of  slate.  I  was  surprised,  for  I  had 
felt  almost  convinced  that  the  covering  of  pebbles  was 
an  example  of  a  wonderful  protective  instinct  and  that 
a  wasp  constructed  a  nest  of  pebbles  only  against  a 
pebbly  cliff,  yet,  there  before  me  was  a  nest  studded 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   INSECT   LIFE     191 

with  brown  and  white  pebbles  standing  out  against 
a  background  of  purple  slate  in  so  prominent  a 
manner  that  any  one  might  see  it.  Had  the  wasp 
intelligently  attempted  to  construct  a  conspicuous  nest 
it  could  scarcely  have  been  more  successful.  I  was 
disappointed  at  finding  that  the  pretty  example  of 
harmonization  was  but  a  myth,  but  1  had  received  an 
excellent  lesson  in  the  dano-er  of  arrivino-  at  a  conclusion 
without  careful  and  repeated  observations. 

I  found  the  little  digger-wasp,  Arnmophila}  very 
active  at  the  end  of  June  in  the  open  glades  of  the 
forest  at  an  altitude  of  8000  feet.  It  is  an  insect  of 
wide  altitudinal  distribution  and  ascends  to  at  least 
11,000  feet.  It  is  a  slender  black  species  somewhat 
under  an  inch  in  length,  with  the  sides  clothed  in  a 
silvery  pile  and  the  front  two-thirds  of  the  abdomen 
coloured  in  a  shining  red.  On  a  patch  of  short  grass 
the  wasp  was  incessantly  digging,  hunting  for  cater- 
pillars, or  feeding  on  the  sweet  flowers.  It  was 
amusing  to  watch  its  untiring  industry  in  the  excavation 
of  its  tunnels,  thrusting  out  the  soil  in  spouts  of  sand, 
sweeping  it  backwards  with  its  fore  legs  and  dislodging 
the  larger  fragments  with  its  mandibles. 

The  marvellous  instincts  of  these  wasps  have  been 
displayed  in  the  minute  and  accurate  observations 
of  Fabre.  The  Anwiophila  captures  caterpillars, 
paralyzes  them  by  a  succession  of  stings  into  the 
different  segments  of  the  body,  crushes  their  heads 
between    its    mandibles  and    then  drao^s    them  off  to 

*  Mr.  Bainbrigge  Fletcher,  who  kindly  examined  my  specimens  of 
this  wasp,  tells  me  that  an  exactly  similar  specimen  from  Abbottabad 
has  been  returned  to  Pusa  named  by  Mr.  R.  E.  Turner  of  the  J^ritish 
Museum  as  Psavunophila  iydei,  but  that  the  species  is  an  Ammophila 
according  to  Bingham's  diagnosis  of  the  genus. 


192       A  NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

a  previously  prepared  tunnel  in  the  ground.  After 
lodging  the  victim  in  the  blind  end  of  the  tunnel,  the 
wasp  lays  an  egg  upon  it,  then  seals  the  entrance, 
disappears  and  comes  no  more  to  the  nest. 

I  will  here  mention  a  few  illustrations  of  the  blind- 
ness of  instinct  displayed  by  this  species.  The  first 
problem  was  :  How  will  the  wasp  behave  if,  when  in 
search  for  plunder,  it  discovers,  not  a  virile  prey,  but 
a  caterpillar  already  paralyzed  with  the  head  already 
crushed.-^  Will  the  wasp  despise  such  prey,  or  will 
it  recognize  that  the  caterpillar  being  paralyzed,  there 
is  no  need  to  repeat  the  process,  that  much  of 
its  work  has  been  already  done,  and  that  nothing 
now  remains  but  to  drag  away  the  larva  and  to 
bury  it  ? 

I  unearthed  a  caterpillar  from  a  wasp's  nest.  It 
lay  motionless,  paralyzed  from  the  repeated  stings  of 
its  captor.  On  its  left  side,  distant  from  its  head  by 
one-third  of  its  length,  was  attached  the  oval  whitish 
Ggg.  I  placed  the  exhumed  caterpillar  before  a 
wasp  that  was  running  about  in  search  of  prey.  The 
wasp  rushed  on  it.  Never  had  it  found  such  a  morsel 
as  this.  Here  was  a  prey  that  made  no  struggle  to 
escape,  that  needed  no  sting  to  overpower  it.  Yet 
the  wasp  could  not  recognize  this.  It  seized  the 
passive  larva  in  its  jaws  and  legs,  pierced  it  eight 
separate  times  with  its  sting,  and  finally  crushed  the 
head  between  its  jaws.  All  was  labour  lost.  The 
caterpillar  had  hours  before  been  paralyzed  by  a 
previous  wasp ;  its  head  macerated  by  other  jaws. 
But  the  wasp  could  not  appreciate  this.  That  the 
caterpillar  made  no  resistance  had  no  influence  on  the 
wasp.     Struggle  or  no  struggle,  the  force  of  instinct 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   INSECT   LIFE     193 

must  be  fulfilled.  The  caterpillar  cannot  be  removed 
until  sting  and  jaw  have  done  their  work.  The 
paralyzed  larva  must  be  again  paralyzed,  the  crushed 
head  must  be  again  crushed  before  the  next  step  in 
the  instinctive  round  can  follow  and  the  caterpillar 
can  be  draoored  into  the  cell. 

The  closure  of  the  nest  supplies  a  second  instance 
of  the  utter  folly  of  the  insect  when,  through  any 
interference,  the  instinctive  round  is  broken.  A 
caterpillar  has  been  carried  to  the  nest,  dragged 
below,  an  egg  has  been  laid  and  the  wasp  is  now 
industriously  engaged  in  sealing  up  the  tunnel.  First 
it  spreads  a  roof  over  the  buried  chamber  to  provide 
a  safe  nest  for  the  growing  egg.  For  this  it  selects 
what  is  suitable  from  the  soil  around.  A  bulky  pebble 
or  a  few  flat  larainai  of  slate  serve  the  purpose  and 
are  pushed  down  into  the  pit.  The  wasp  follows, 
moulds  them  into  place  by  the  pressure  of  her  head 
until  the  cell  is  closed.  The  roof  secure,  any  material 
serves  to  block  the  tunnel.  Surrounding  debris,  dust 
or  sand  or  pebble,  is  shuffled  indiscriminately  down  the 
passage.  More  is  poured  in ;  everything  is  swept 
backward  into  the  pit.  All  it  needs  is  to  be  pressed 
tight ;  the  tunnel  wall  must  be  a  consolidated,  not  a 
crumbling  structure.  Down  goes  the  insect's  head, 
the  legs  clutch  the  sides  of  the  tunnel,  the  wings 
vibrate,  and,  with  the  vertex  as  a  ram  and  all  the 
strength  of  the  body  as  a  driving  force,  the  loose 
particles  of  crumbling  earth  are  compressed  into  a 
solid  mass.  Again  the  debris  is  poured  in,  again  the 
process  of  consolidation  follows.  The  stoppage  of 
the  tunnel  is  half  complete  and  the  wasp  rests.  It 
flies  off  to  a  neio^hbourincr  bank  of  flowers.      It   will 


O 


194       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

feed  for  a  minute,  then  resume  its  work.  For  one 
half  the  tunnel  remains  to  be  filled  in. 

Now  is  the  time  to  expose  the  insect's  folly.  I 
open  the  tunnel,  lay  bare  the  cell,  extract  the  cater- 
pillar with  the  white  elliptical  egg  adherent  to  one 
side.  I  lay  the  caterpillar  right  across  the  entrance  of 
the  ruined  tunnel  that  leads  to  the  pillaged  cell.  The 
problem  is  :  What  will  the  wasp  do  when  she  returns  to 
her  labour  ?  She  left  behind  a  tunnel,  the  inner  half 
walled,  the  outer  half  not  yet  complete.  She  returns 
to  find  another  picture.  Facing  her  tunnel  is  the 
larva  and  Qgg,  the  object  of  all  her  toil ;  within  is  the 
ruin  of  her  work  ;  her  solid  wall  is  no  more  ;  at  the 
end  of  her  tunnel  is  a  broken  and  an  empty  cell. 
Surely  she  will  recognize  all  this ;  she  will  either 
replace  the  caterpillar  and  repair  the  damage  or  desert 
the  hopeless  ruin. 

But  no.  The  wasp  returns.  She  approaches  the 
tunnel  as  though  oblivious  of  any  change.  She  treads 
on  the  caterpillar  lying  at  the  entrance  ;  she  stands 
astride  of  her  own  egg,  but  sees  nor  cares  nothing 
for  it.  She  reaches  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel.  Before 
her  lies  desolation  and  ruin  ;  within  is  the  pillaged 
cell ;  but  to  the  wasp  all  is  in  good  order.  She  has 
returned  for  one  object,  to  seal  the  outer  half  of  her 
tunnel.  To  the  fulfilment  of  that  duty  she  is  now  so 
abject  a  slave  that  she  is  impelled  to  do  it  whether 
she  wills  it  or  no.  So  she  continues  where  she  left 
off.  She  shuffles  earth  into  the  ruined  tunnel,  pours 
dust  into  the  empty  cell,  discards  the  exposed  cater- 
pillar, in  fact  resumes  her  labour  just  as  if  nothing- 
had  happened  and  cell  and  tunnel  were  in  perfect 
order. 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   INSECT   LIFE     195 

Futile  is  such  toil,  and  every  sign  of  its  futility 
lies  patent  before  the  wasp.  But  the  wasp  sees  it 
not.  What  should  be  hidden  lies  exposed ;  what 
should  be  filled  lies  empty  ;  what  should  be  a  solid 
mass  lies  a  crumbling  ruin  ;  but  to  the  wasp  all  is 
well.  She  has  returned  to  seal  the  entrance  and, 
ruin  or  no  ruin,  seal  the  entrance  she  will.  Instinct 
is  blind.  It  has  no  concern  in  the  why  or  how  it  acts. 
What  it  does  it  must  do,  and  it  can  do  naught  else. 
Every  link  in  its  chain  of  action  must  be  forged  no 
matter  how  worthless  the  bond. 


CHAPTER   XI 

BUTTERFLIES,    MOTHS    AND    CICADAS 

Swallow-tails  of  Hazara — Sexual  display — Protective  coloration  in  butter- 
flies—  Butterflies  resembling  leaves  — Protectively-coloured  moths — 
Enemies  of  butterflies  and  moths — Instinctive  fear  of  enemies — Rainy 
season  in  Hazara — Habits  and  musical  organs  of  Cicada. 

I  HAVE  a  few  observations  to  make  on  the  Lepi- 
doptera.  The  butterflies  of  the  valley  were  not 
specially  attractive,  but  many  beautiful  kinds  fluttered 
through  the  higher  woods.  In  the  open  glades  were 
bright-coloured  species  that  love  the  sunlight.  Here 
different  species  of  Colzas,  Pie7'is,  Vmiessa,  Argynnis 
either  hasten  from  flower  to  flower  or  collect  into 
quivering  groups  over  the  moist  patches  on  the  ground. 
In  the  shade  of  the  trees  are  more  sombre  species, 
chiefly  of  Satyrus  and  Ypthima.  For  a  few  weeks 
the  woods  are  thronged  with  species.  Every  glade  is 
gay  with  life.  Then,  as  if  by  magic,  all  in  a  few  days 
disappear  and  new  forms  take  their  place. 

Swallow-tails  of  most  beautiful  colour  fly  overhead 
or  dart  swiftly  down  the  slope.  The  widespread 
Papilio  mac/iaou  occasionally  appears.  Its  soft  yellow 
wings  are  veined  and  bordered  with  a  dense  black, 
marked  above  with  yellow  crescents  and  adorned 
beneath  with  spots  of  pink  and  blue.  From  the  hot 
plains  even  to  the  line  of  permanent  snow  this  butter- 
fly may  anywhere   be    found  ;    but    nowhere  does  its 

196 


BUTTERFLIES,   MOTHS   AND   CICADAS     197 

beauty  seem  more  fitted  to  its  life  than  amongst  the 
subtropical  flowers.  More  striking  is  Papilio  philo- 
xenus,  a  large  black  species,  moving  with  heavy  flight 
and  hoverincr  like  a  hummingf-bird  before  a  flower. 
On  its  hind  wings  are  bright  and  crimson  bands 
handsomely  displayed  as  it  hangs  on  the  blossoms  of 
the  chestnut.  A  smaller,  but  equally  lovely  species, 
is  P.  cloatit/uts,  a  swift  and  active  swallow-tail  sweeping 
hither  and  thither  above  the  viburnum,  showing  its 
delicate  green  transparent  wings  surrounded  by  a 
jet-black  border,  like  windows  in  a  dark  frame.  Most 
beautiful  of  all  is  P.  polyctor  with  an  expanse  of  over 
four  inches.  It  is  a  dark  brown  colour,  covered  in 
scales  of  golden  green  ;  its  hind  wings  stamped  with 
a  patch  of  brilliant  blue  and  a  border  of  pale  red 
crescents  beyond  a  band  of  velvet  black.  All  this 
lovely  play  of  colour  flashes  in  a  moment  before  the 
eye  as  it  hangs  fluttering  upon  a  flower.  Sometimes 
these  beautiful  polyctors  collect  into  groups  of  ten  or 
twelve  about  some  patch  of  moisture  on  the  ground. 
There  they  rest  with  quivering  wings  or  rise  above 
the  pool  in  short  amorous  flights,  where  they  dance 
and  hover  in  the  air.  A  gleam  of  green  and  gold  and 
blue  flashes  from  their  gaudy  wings ;  new  colours 
shine  out  at  every  movement  and  in  every  changing 
light.  It  is  the  most  beautiful  vision  of  insect  beauty 
to  be  seen  in  the  Western  Himalaya. 

Butterflies  often  display  great  energy  under  the 
influence  of  sexual  excitement.  Junonia  orithya  is  a 
very  common  and  beautiful  species  with  brilliant  blue 
wings.  While  the  female  is  seated  on  a  flower  the 
male  circles  round  her  in  hovering  flight  with  his  wings 
quivering  so  violently  that  he  might  be  a  hawk-moth 


198       A  NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

hovering  before  a  flower.  At  intervals  he  ceases, 
sinks  down  to  the  female,  strokes  her  with  his  antennce 
and  then  rises  again  to  recommence  his  whirling  flight 
in  ever  swifter  circles.  The  common  brimstone 
butterfly,  Goneptevyx  rhainni,  another  very  conspicuous 
and  attractive  species,  is  equally  eager  at  its  court- 
ship. In  amorous  circles  the  male  hovers  round  the 
female  and  strokes  her  at  intervals  with  his  winor-s.      It 

O 

may  be  worth  mentioning  that  both  these  butterflies, 
in  which  the  sexual  enthusiasm  was  specially  intense, 
were  very  conspicuous  and  brightly  coloured  ;  in  both 
the  numbers  of  the  males  predominated  over  the 
females,  and  in  both  the  male  was  the  more  brilliantly 
coloured  of  the  two. 

The  subject  of  protective  coloration  is  perhaps 
hardly  worth  discussion,  since  so  many  examples  of  the 
great  principle  have  been  collected  in  every  part  of  the 
world.  But  I  feel  inclined  to  mention  a  few  instances 
which  specially  attracted  me  in  connection  with  the 
Lepidoptera. 

A  peculiar  butterfly,  Nytha  parisatis,  one  of  that 
large  family,  the  Nymphalidce,  was  common  at  4000 
feet.  It  is  a  dark  brown  species  with  a  light  bluish 
marcrin  alongr  the  termen  of  the  winc;^s.  The  under 
surface  is  of  a  paler  hue,  streaked  with  white  and 
ornamented  with  black  ocelli.  Now  this  butterfly 
haunts  the  hills  of  slate.  It  is  in  the  habit  of  settling 
on  the  bare  rock,  usually  in  dark  crevices  or  beneath 
overhanging  ledges,  where  its  brown  wings  harmonize 
well  with  the  similarly  coloured  slates.  On  ascending 
to  6000  and  7000  feet  we  meet  with  two  other 
species  possessed  of  a  similar  habit,  Satyriis  schak^^a 
and  Aulocera  brahminus.    These  are  also  dull-coloured 


BUTTERFLIES,   MOTHS   AND   CICADAS     190 

butterflies  of  the  same  family  and  they  likewise  seek 
protection  against  the  dark  rock,  but  they  are  not  so 
successful  in  this  as  is  Nytha  parisatis. 

Many  butterflies  bear  a  close  resemblance  to  the 
leaves  of  certain  trees  and  no  doubt  gain  protection 
thereby.  A  little  butterfly  known  as  Libythea  myrrha 
was  certainly  a  member  of  this  group.  This  species 
has  its  upper  surface  of  a  rich  brown  colour  marked 
with  some  blotches  and  streaks  of  yellow.  But  when 
it  alights  it  rests  with  its  wings  tightly  closed,  and  then 
the  appearance  of  the  insect  both  in  shape  and  colour 
is  very  similar  to  a  dried  leaf.  It  is  a  butterfly  of 
swift  and  erratic  flight  and  is  in  the  habit  of  settling  on 
the  smaller  branches  of  the  trees,  where  it  must  often 
escape  observation  by  virtue  of  its  leaf-like  form. 
Indeed  I  have  little  doubt  that  the  possession  of 
protective  shape  and  colour  must  be  of  distinct  ad- 
vantage to  this  species,  since  it  is  one  of  the  few 
butterflies  that  I  have  ever  seen  attacked  by  insec- 
tivorous birds. 

My  remarks  on  protective  coloration  would  be  very 
incomplete  if  I  made  no  mention  of  that  most  striking 
example  of  leaf  butterflies  the  Kalliina  inachns.  This 
butterfly  is  almost  classical,  and  was  brought  into 
special  prominence  by  the  researches  of  Dr.  Wallace 
in  Malay.  Even  in  the  dried  state  when  preserved  in 
a  museum  there  can  be  no  mistaking  the  fact  that  in 
this  insect  the  principle  of  protective  coloration  has 
been  developed  to  the  most  refined  degree. 

We  see  it  in  the  shape,  the  size,  the  outline  of  the 
wings,  which  is  clearly  that  of  the  forest  foliage  ;  we  see 
it  in  their  dull  brown  colour  which  resembles  that  of 
the  forest  leaves  ;•  on  the  wings  we  see  the  pair  of  tails 


200       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

that  mark  the  stem,  the  pointed  tip  that  marks  the 
apex,  the  central  band  that  marks  the  midrib,  and  the 
lines  that  mark  the  veining  of  the  leaf.  At  the  tips 
we  see  the  clear  white  spot  that  looks  like  an  insect- 
boring,  and  beneath  is  the  profuse  and  varied  mottling 
such  as  stains  the  surface  of  the  fungus-covered 
leaves. 

But  the  Kallinia  must  be  seen  in  its  natural  habitat 
in  order  to  appreciate  the  full  value  of  this  wonderful 
protective  scheme.  We  wander  through  some  shady 
glen  where  the  dense  foliage  is  spread  out  above  and 
the  leaves  of  the  oak  are  strewn  thickly  over  the 
ground.  Suddenly  a  brown  fluttering  object  rises  up 
before  us.  It  looks  like  a  withered  leaf  that  has  been 
wafted  upward  by  a  gentle  breeze.  It  flutters  on. 
We  follow  it  with  the  eye.  Suddenly  a  flash  of  yellow 
appears  and  we  know  it  to  be  a  Kallirna.  On  it  goes 
in  a  swift  confusing  flight.  It  darts  and  dances  in  the 
air.  Then  in  an  instant  it  seems  to  turn  on  itself;  it 
disappears  ;  it  has  alighted  head  downward  on  a  bush  ; 
its  wings  have  come  sharp  together  and  it  is  trans- 
formed into  a  leaf. 

Sometimes  in  these  same  haunts  we  come  upon 
another  very  similar  and  equally  remarkable  form,  the 
Melanitis.  It  resembles  the  withered  leaves  as  closely 
as  does  the  Kalliina.  Its  flight  is  equally  swift  and 
erratic,  but  there  is  no  patch  of  yellow  on  its  wings  and 
it  never  alights  on  the  bushes,  but  chooses  rather  the 
dead  leaves  that  lie  strewn  about  the  ground. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  these  two  butterflies  when 
seen  in  their  natural  habitat  make  a  deep  impression 
on  the  observant  mind.  It  is  not  only  the  close 
anatomical  resemblance  between  the  butterflies  and  the 


BUTTERFLIES,   MOTHS   AND   CICADAS     201 

withered  leaves,  but  the  way  they  cling  to  their  leafy 
haunts,  their  swift  and  zigzag  flight,  the  way  they 
suddenly  burst  into  view  and  then  as  if  by  magic 
instantaneously  disappear,  must  place  the  Kaliima  and 
the  Mclanitis  amongst  the  most  perfect  examples 
of  protective  coloration  that  can  anywhere  be  seen. 

I    am   not    certain    if  the   butterfly  Dophla  patala 
actually  occurs  within  the  limits  of  Hazara,  but  I  have 
seen  it  in  the  Himalaya  a  little  further  to  the  east.      It 
is  a  butterfly  of  some  four  inches  in  expanse,  of  much 
the  same  size  and  shape  as  the  Kaliima.     Its  upper 
surface  is  of  a  rich  green  marked  with  patches  of  pale 
yellow,  and  its  form  is  such  that  the  colour,  shape  and 
outline  of  the  wings  closely  resemble  the  mature  green 
leaves  that  grow  on  the  forest  trees.     The  cilia  that 
border  the  edge  of  the  wings  are  marked  with  spots 
alternately  light  and  dark,  and  this  has  the  effect  of 
giving  the  outline  of  the  wings  some  resemblance  to 
the  crenated  margin  of  a  leaf.      It  might  be  thought 
that  the  yellow  patch  on  the  surface  of  the  wings  would 
have  served  to  destroy  the  protective  scheme,  but  this 
is  not  the  case,  since   many  of  the  forest  leaves  are 
marked   with   similar  spots   of  yellow   which  indicate 
where  the   green    tissue    of   the   leaf  is    first  passing 
to    decay.     The  Dophla   is  a   butterfly   of  rapid   and 
irregular  flight.      It  som.etimes  settles  on  the  ground 
or  on  the  bark  of  a  tree,   in  which  places  it  is  fairly 
conspicuous ;  but  its  favoured  haunts  are  the  smaller 
branches,  where  it  settles  amidst  the  green  leaves.      It 
is  there  well  concealed  by  its  protective  colours.      It 
always  alights   with   outstretched  wings,  as   it   is   the 
upper  surface  that  is  coloured  a  protective  green,  and 
it  has  also  the  habit  of  slightly  raising  and  lowering  the 


202       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

tips  of  its  wings  so  as  to  give  them  the  appearance  of 
a  pair  of  leaves  moved  gently  by  the  wind. 

It  is  instructive  to  contrast  the  Dophla  in  its 
resemblance  to  the  green  leaf  with  such  a  form  as  the 
Mclanitis  which  resembles  the  leaves  after  they  are 
fallen  and  dry.  The  Dophla  is  coloured  a  rich  green 
to  blend  with  the  fresh  foliage,  the  Melanitis  is  a  dull 
brown  in  harmony  with  the  scattered  leaves ;  the 
Dophla  alights  where  it  is  lost  upon  the  branches, 
the  Melanitis  seeks  concealment  on  the  leaf-strewn 
ground  ;  the  Dophla  rests  with  wide-open  wings  as  it 
is  its  upper  surface  that  is  protectively  displayed,  the 
Melanitis  alights  with  wings  tightly  closed  for  beneath 
is  its  protective  scheme  ;  the  wings  of  the  Dophla  are 
even  and  entire  and  so  are  the  green  healthy  leaves, 
the  wings  of  the  Melanitis  are  ragged  and  torn  and 
such  is  the  scattered  foliage  in  all  stages  of  decay  ;  all 
the  Dophla  are  much  alike  and  such  is  the  harmony  in 
the  mature  leaves,  in  the  Melanitis  all  differ  and  so  do 
the  littered  fragments  that  lie  everywhere  beneath  the 
trees  ;  the  Dophla  when  it  settles  displays  a  pair  of 
wide-open  wings  and  so  also  is  the  growing  foliage 
placed  in  pairs  upon  the  stem,  the  Melanitis  brings  its 
wings  tightly  together  so  as  to  appear  to  have  only  one 
and  thus  blends  with  the  multitude  of  single  leaves  that 
lie  scattered  broadcast  on  the  ground. 

Such  is  the  contrast  between  the  Dophla  and  the 
Melanitis  in  their  hard  struggle  for  life.  Each  is 
secure  in  its  own  habitat ;  each  is  perfectly  adapted  to 
the  special  nature  of  its  own  haunts.  We  can  see  all 
this  in  the  dead  insect,  in  its  structure,  its  colour,  its 
size  and  shape,  but  we  must  see  each  in  its  accustomed 
haunts,   we    must    watch  each   select   its  own  special 


BUTTERFLIES,   MOTHS   AND   CICADAS     203 

habitat,  each  aHght  in  its  own  pecuHar  way,  before  we 
can  appreciate  how  closely  function  is  interwoven  with 
structure  and  both  with  the  protective  scheme. 

More  numerous  and  undoubted  examples  of  pro- 
tective coloration  are  to  be  found  in  the  suborder  of 
moths.  The  place  to  seek  them  is  in  some  shady  glen 
where  only  a  rare  shaft  of  light  gleams  in  between  the 
trees  and  where  no  intruder  enters  to  disturb  their 
daylight  haunts.  They  love  the  silent  gloom  where 
the  long  ferns  droop  down  about  the  rocks,  where  the 
pale  grey  lichen  clings  about  the  trunks  and  the  moss 
in  tufted  sprays  hangs  pendent  from  the  oaks.  Here 
they  gather  for  the  day  amidst  the  dark  and  dripping 
foliage,  where  not  a  sound  is  heard  to  break  the 
silence  but  the  shrill  noise  of  the  cicada  or  the  rumble 
of  some  distant  stream.  Many  different  kinds  occur, 
each  suitably  adapted  to  the  special  nature  of  its  own 
abode.  Gnophus  acciptraria  is  a  dull  grey-coloured 
moth  nearly  three  inches  in  expanse,  mottled  with 
brown  and  with  darker  patches  near  the  tips  of  the 
wings.  This  species  was  frequently  seen  between 
7000  and  8000  feet,  where  it  used  to  haunt  the 
limestone  cliffs  and  harmonized  in  a  most  perfect 
manner  with  the  mottled  colour  of  the  stone.  It 
is  an  insect  of  fairly  strong  flight  and  moves  about 
after  dark,  at  which  time  it  is  often  attracted  to  the 
glare  of  an  artificial  light.  In  open  places  it  is  more 
uncommon  ;  but  in  a  dark  glen,  where  the  trees  drip  with 
moisture  and  the  bosses  of  limestone  project  through 
the  decaying  soil,  this  species  will  almost  certainly  be 
found.  It  seldom  alights  anywhere  except  on  a  grey 
block  of  limestone,  usually  in  some  dim  recess  where 
it    clings    head    downwards    with    outstretched  wings 


204       A  NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

pressed  closely  against  the  rock,  and  so  carefully  con- 
cealed that  it  can  be  detected  only  by  the  sharpest  eye. 
It  is  an  excellent  example  of  a  protectively  coloured 
species  that  blends  with  a  grey  weathered  stone. 

In  marked  contradistinction  to  the  Gnophus  is 
another  nocturnal  moth,  Boarmia  admissai'ia,  a  smaller 
species  about  two  inches  in  expanse,  with  brown  wings 
streaked  at  intervals  with  bands  of  black.  This  moth 
would  gain  no  protection  on  the  light-coloured  lime- 
stone, so  it  resorts  to  the  trunks  of  the  trees.  It 
spends  the  day  attached  to  the  bark  of  the  pine, 
cherry,  sycamore,  silver  fir  and  other  forest  trees.  Its 
pattern  of  coloration  bears  the  very  closest  resem- 
blance to  the  bark  on  which  it  rests,  and  makes  it 
a  difficult  insect  to  discover  until  it  flies  out  into 
the  air. 

These  two  moths,  the  Gftopkus  and  the  Boaruiia, 
cannot  but  arouse  interest  in  the  principles  of  pro- 
tective coloration,  so  perfectly  adapted  is  each  to  the 
nature  of  its  haunts,  the  one  to  the  cliffs,  the  other  to 
the  trees,  and  each  keeps  so  exclusively  to  its  own 
respective    habitat. 

Another  little  point  of  interest  was  that  the  different 
species  of  Boarmia  did  not  necessarily  seek  protection 
in  the  same  haunts.  For  instance,  B oar 7nia  granit aria 
was  a  smaller  and  greyish-coloured  species,  and  it  used 
to  rest  by  day  not  upon  the  trees  but  on  the  slabs  of 
limestone,  with  which  it  harmonized  very  well.  Like 
the  other  species,  it  flies  by  night  and  often  comes 
about  a  lamp.  The  colouring  of  its  under  surface  is 
a  little  conspicuous,  but  this  is  of  no  disadvantage  since 
it  rests  with  wings  outstretched  and  pressed  firmly 
against  the  stone. 


BUTTERFLIES,   MOTHS   AND   CICADAS     205 

Another  of  these  protectively-coloured  moths  was 
Gnophus  variegata,  a  much  smaller  and  lighter-coloured 
species  mottled  with  a  yellowish  or  pinkish  tinge  which 
harmonized  fairly  well  with  the  hue  of  the  mountain 
limestone.  Its  colours  did  not  blend  quite  so  accu- 
rately as  was  seen  in  some  of  the  other  species,  unless 
it  happened  to  alight  on  a  specially  suitable  patch  of 
stone.  And  we  should  remember  that  this  limestone 
is  marked  with  many  streaks  and  patches,  tinted  with 
numerous  shades  of  colour,  clothed  with  different  kinds 
of  fungi,  all  of  which  so  vary  its  surface  as  to  fit  it  for  the 
concealment  of  a  number  of  distinct  and  varied  species. 

Anonychia  rosU-ifera  was  another  very  common 
species.  It  was  a  pretty  little  grey  moth  with  a  brown 
angulated  pattern  on  the  upper  surface  of  the  wings. 
It  took  refuge  on  the  dark  shales  and  I  seldom  saw  it 
on  the  limestone.  It  does  not  harmonize  so  well  as 
some  of  the  previous  species,  and  it  seemed  to  prefer 
a  somewhat  lower  altitude  of  6000  to  7000  feet. 
There  was  also  another  little  moth  that  sought  the 
limestone,  the  name  of  which  I  did  not  determine.  It 
was  of  a  uniform  grey  colour  and  harmonized  ex- 
ceptionally well  with  the  weathered  areas  of  the  stone. 
This  species  seemed  to  rely  even  more  than  the  others 
on  its  close  resemblance  to  its  environment,  for  I  found 
that  it  was  less  liable  to  take  alarm  and  less  inclined  to 
leave  its  shelter  than  any  of  the  previous  species. 

Abraxas  sylvata  was  still  another  of  the  Hazara 
moths  that  possessed  the  habit  of  alighting  on  the 
crags  of  limestone.  It  is  a  white  insect,  with  its  fragile 
wings  studded  over  with  patches  and  spots  of  grey. 
This  species  harmonized  fairly  well  with  the  stones, 
though  any  one  seeing  the  insect  in  a  museum  would 


20G       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

scarcely  have  thought  so.  Harmony  must  be  its  main 
protection,  but  I  was  interested  to  observe  that  one 
which  I  took  in  a  net  remained  perfectly  motionless 
and  shammed  death.  It  has  thus  recourse  to  another 
method  of  eluding  its  enemies,  and  this  is  the  only 
instance,  with  the  exception  of  that  widespread  moth 
Deiopia  pulchella,  that  has  come  to  my  notice  of  the 
strange  practice  of  shamming  death  amongst  this  large 
division  of  the  Lepidoptera. 

I  have  mentioned  fourteen  species  of  the  butterflies 
and  moths  which  frequent  this  valley,  all  of  which 
would  seem  to  be  preserved  because  they  resemble 
those  structures  on  which  they  are  accustomed  to 
alight.  Some  seek  protection  amongst  the  leaves, 
others  on  the  shales,  others  on  the  limestones,  still 
others  on  the  trunks  of  the  forest  trees,  and  the  colour 
of  each  is  beautifully  adapted  to  the  nature  of  its 
resort.  I  have  been  asked  if  these  moths  deliberately 
select  the  objects  on  which  they  alight  with  the 
conscious  intention  of  seeking  concealment.  But  this 
cannot  be  for  a  moment  admitted.  The  moths  have 
through  generations  gradually  adapted  themselves  to 
those  habitats  where  they  would  naturally  find  the 
greatest  security.  Those  which  tended  to  roam  into 
other  areas  would  soon  be  destroyed,  and  only  the 
individuals  which  kept  to  those  places  that  they 
resembled  would  ultimately  survive.  The  GnopJms 
alights  on  the  limestone,  but  it  knows  not  why.  On 
most  occasions  it  closely  resembles  the  rock  on  which 
it  rests,  but  the  moth  does  not  understand  this  ;  indeed 
I  have  watched  it  settle  on  a  patch  of  dark  shale  and 
on  an  iron-stained  slab  of  limestone  where  it  was  really 
conspicuous,  but  at  the  same  time  perfectly  content. 


BUTTERFLIES,   MOTHS   AND   CICADAS     207 

It  knew  nothing  of  its  colours  and  was  quite  satisfied 
when  it  settled  on  a  stone.  Similarly  have  I  seen  a 
Boarmia  alight  on  a  portion  of  a  tree  where  the  inner 
wood  had  been  exposed  by  the  woodcutters  ;  but  the 
moth  did  not  appreciate  the  fact  that  its  dark  wings  were 
highly  conspicuous  against  the  white  and  splintered 
wood ;  its  instinct  was  to  alight  on  wood  ;  it  had 
satisfied  that  instinct  and  seemed  contented  with  its 
choice.  These  moths  know  nothing  of  their  wonderful 
protective  scheme.  Instinct  tells  one  that  it  must 
spread  itself  against  a  stone,  another  that  it  must  seek 
the  trunk  of  a  tree,  but  as  to  why  it  should  do  so  it 
knows  no  more  than  why  it  unfolds  itself  from  a  grub. 

Protective  coloration  is  developed  to  a  much  higher 
degree  in  moths  than  in  butterflies  ;  and  the  reason  of 
this  is  very  obvious  to  any  one  who  has  taken  much 
notice  of  their  habits.  Butterflies  are  seldom  attacked 
by  birds,  while  moths  form  a  tasty  morsel.  If  moths 
moved  about  by  day  in  the  same  way  as  butterflies  we 
should  see  them  being  continually  devoured  by  a  host 
of  insectivorous  enemies.  It  is  only  when  they  are 
occasionally  disturbed  that  birds  have  an  opportunity 
of  darting  on  them  in  the  air,  and  we  seldom  see  those 
occasions  when  they  are  sought  out  and  captured  on 
the  bark  of  the  trees.  I  have  records  of  warblers, 
robins,  chats,  flycatchers  and  woodpeckers  from  time 
to  time  devouring  moths,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that 
they  are  far  more  persistently  preyed  on  than  the 
conspicuous  but  nauseous  butterflies. 

Butterflies  have  few  enemies,  probably  in  conse- 
quence of  their  being  distasteful  to  insectivorous 
animals.  During  seven  years'  observation  in  the  East 
I  have  witnessed  an  attack  of  birds  on  butterflies  only 


208       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

in  the  case  of  three  species.  I  have  seen  the  large 
bee-eater,  Merops  persicus,  hawk  systematically  and 
with  destructive  effect  amongst  numbers  of  the  painted 
lady.  I  have  already  mentioned  an  attack  made  by  a 
bulbul  on  a  Libythea,  but  this  butterfly  is  protectively 
coloured  and  looks  very  like  a  moth.  The  third 
instance  was  on  the  part  of  the  paradise  flycatcher, 
though  this  bird  did  not  seem  to  be  very  eager,  since 
it  failed  to  secure  its  prey.  I  have  no  doubt  about  the 
fact  that  only  on  rare  occasions  do  butterflies  fall  a 
victim  to  birds.  Nevertheless,  they  show  an  instinctive 
fear  of  the  few  species  that  attack  them.  The  Libythea 
hurls  itself  to  the  ground  and  there  shams  death  ;  the 
painted  ladies  are  thrown  into  wild  confusion  before 
the  assault  of  a  flock  of  bee-eaters.  When  the  bird 
dashes  on  the  butterfly,  the  latter  recognizes  its  clanger 
and  swerves  to  one  side.  It  then  darts  to  the  ground 
in  a  zigzag  course,  while  the  bird  falls  on  it  and  often 
misses  it  again  and  again.  I  have  seen  four  bee-eaters 
in  succession  fail  to  capture  a  butterfly  that  was  fully 
aware  of  its  danger. 

Any  one  who  has  seen  birds  hiding  in  the  trees  or 
scattering  away  for  shelter  in  the  undergrowth  when  a 
hawk  appears  in  the  vicinity  ;  any  one  who  has  watched 
worms  emercje  from  the  earth  before  the  advance  of  a 
hidden  mole,  will  feel  satisfied  that  animals  have  an 
instinctive  fear  of  their  enemies.  This  is  a  fact  in 
nature.  It  might  have  been  thought  an  obvious 
truth  that  could  be  seen  in  operation  on  every  side 
throuorhout  the  endless  battle  of  life.  But  instances 
are  not  so  very  common.  I  think  most  creatures  meet 
their  end  oblivious  of  the  dangers  that  confront  them. 

It    is  not  unusual   in   India   to  see  young  chickens 


BUTTERFLIES,   MOTHS   AND   CICADAS     209 

hurry  away  for  shelter  at  the  sound  of  the  angry  caw 
of  a  crow.  Doves  will  most  savagely  attack  crows  ; 
drongos  will  throw  themselves  ferociously  on  kites 
when  they  approach  unpleasantly  close  to  the  nests. 
I  will  mention  some  less  general  instances.  On  a 
laro-e  shallow  lake  I  watched  flocks  of  coots  dash 
hurriedly  from  the  shore  into  the  water  whenever  a 
marsh  harrier  came  sailing  overhead.  The  appearance 
of  the  harrier  filled  them  with  intense  alarm  ;  they  all 
broke  into  wild  commotion,  made  headlong  for  the 
water,  which  resounded  with  the  splashing  and  the 
flapping  of  their  wings.  They  fully  understood  that 
the  harrier  could  swoop  on  them  while  on  the  land,  but 
that  they  were  in  safety  on  the  water.  I  have  seen 
fishes  in  a  river  dash  from  the  shallows  into  the  deeper 
parts  whenever  a  pied  kingfisher  happened  to  hover 
above  them.  In  the  rainy  season  the  frogs  of  this 
valley  were  in  the  habit  of  congregating  along  the 
banks  of  the  streams  close  to  the  brink  of  the  water. 
Whenever  a  kingfisher  or  a  heron  would  fly  gently 
down  the  stream,  then  all  the  frogs  used  to  spring 
headlono-  into  the  water  and  dive  down  into  the  mud. 
Nothino-  filled  these  froos  with  such  alarm  as  the  sioht 
of  an  approaching  heron. 

Thus  many  creatures  recognize  their  enemies  and 
understand  the  dangers  that  they  run  ;  but  to  others 
the  end  is  swift  and  sudden  and  they  know  not  how  it 
comes. 

In  the  months  of  July  and  August  the  shrill  noise 
of  the  Cicada  rings  loudly  through  the  forest.  The 
rainy  season  has  then  set  in  and  vegetable  life  on 
every  side  springs  into  luxuriant  growth.  Fresh  green 
grass    covers    every    wooded    slope ;    on    the    alpine 


210       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

pastures  flowers  of  most  vivid  hue  appear  ;  every  bank 
is  carpeted  with  soft  moss  and  from  every  nook  the 
varied  ferns  hang  down  their  graceful  fronds.  Thick 
clouds  collect  about  the  dripping  trees  and  spread  over 
hill  and  valley  in  their  strange  inconstant  shapes.  It 
is  often  a  remarkable  siijht  to  look  down  from  a  moun- 
tain  ridge  on  to  the  fleecy  clouds  that  congregate 
below.  We  watch  a  thick  mass  of  cumulus  as  it 
surges  up  the  valley.  It  strikes  against  an  opposing 
ridge  and,  like  a  sea  breaking  on  the  rocks,  it  pours 
down  over  the  mountain  side.  Here  the  ascending 
currents  of  hot  air  oppose  it ;  they  drive  it  again  to 
the  higher  elevations  ;  they  roll  it  back  upon  the  ridge. 
The  visible  vapour  again  pours  down.  Conflict  follows 
upon  conflict ;  the  broken  cumuli  form  and  reform, 
scatter  again  over  the  sky,  separate  into  ragged  frag- 
ments of  thin  dissipating  wisps.  In  varied  forms  they 
float  about  the  valley,  now  thickening,  now  condensing, 
and  always  in  a  state  of  evanescent  change.  Some- 
times they  obscure  the  hillside  in  a  thin  veil  of 
translucent  mist ;  at  other  times  they  envelop  it  in 
a  dense  white  mass  that  hides  every  feature  from  our 
view.  Then,  again,  they  may  burst  like  a  tempest  on 
the  cliffs  or  ascend  through  the  air  in  a  pillar  of  vapour 
like  the  smoke  from  a  forest  fire. 

At  such  a  time  as  this  the  Cicada  is  heard  on  every 
side.  Its  shrill  vibrating  note  resounds  through  the 
moist  woods.  At  times  all  is  silent ;  then  a  single 
sound  rings  out  from  a  point  high  up  upon  a  tree ;  a 
second  soon  adds  to  the  music  ;  a  host  of  others  then 
join  the  chorus,  until  the  whole  forest  trembles  with 
the  noise. 

The  cicadas  belong  to  the   Homoptera,  a  suborder 


BUTTERFLIES,  MOTHS   AND   CICADAS    211 

of  the  bugs.  The  species  common  in  the  Hazara 
district  was  Oncotympana  obmibila.  Farther  to  the 
east  in  the  Kangra  valley  was  a  second  species  of 
very  similar  appearance,  Platylomia  brevis.  It  was 
the  latter  species  that  I  more  carefully  examined,  but 
the  following  account  of  the  musical  apparatus  is,  I 
think,  applicable  to  both.  These  cicadas  are  stoutly 
built  insects  about  two  inches  in  length.  They  are  of 
a  dark  brown  colour  with  a  number  of  green  markings, 
and  support  on  either  side  a  pair  of  beautiful  trans- 
parent wings.  The  cicadas  spend  the  day  clinging 
motionless  to  the  trunks  of  the  trees.  Their  colours 
are  a  distinct  advantage  to  them  in  this  habitat,  since 
they  blend  so  closely  with  the  bark  that  the  insects 
are  with  difficulty  seen.  On  sunny  days  they  become 
a  little  restless,  and  in  the  open  glades  may  be  seen  to 
take  swift  sallies  into  the  air.  They  are  widely  dis- 
tributed in  altitude  and  may  be  heard  at  all  elevations, 
from  the  low-lying  valleys  up  to  a  height  of  10,000 
feet.  An  occasional  insect  may  be  heard  at  any  hour 
of  the  day,  but  it  is  at  sunset  or  when  the  sky  is 
darkened  with  impending  rain  that  the  woods  vibrate 
most  loudly  with  their  shrill  importunate  cry. 

I  will  pass  immediately  to  the  musical  organs  of  the 
cicada,  and,  since  I  have  not  been  able  to  understand 
clearly  the  mechanism  of  the  instrument  from  the 
descriptions  that  I  have  seen  in  works  of  natural 
history,  I  will  here  describe  in  a  little  detail  how  it 
seems  to  me  that  the  music  is  produced. 

I  must  first  enter  on  a  few  simple  anatomical  facts. 
I  will  mention  five  structures,  each  of  which  is  in 
some  way  related  to  the  production  of  the  sound. 

A  simple  inspection  of  the  under  surface  of  a  cicada 


212       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

will  reveal  the  presence  of  a  pair  of  flat  plates,  each 
about  three-quarters  of  an  inch  in  length,  that  cover 
the  anterior  half  of  the  under  surface  of  the  abdomen. 
These  plates  are  known  as  the  opercula.  They  are  in 
reality  prolongations  backward  of  the  hind  segment  of 
the  thorax  ;  they  lie  one  on  either  side  of  the  middle 
line  and  are  separated  from  the  abdomen  by  a  deep 
narrow  fissure.  Hidden  away  within  the  base  of  either 
operculum  and  stretched  tightly  across  a  hole  in  the  side 
of  the  first  abdominal  segment  is  a  tense  white  mem- 

, Shield. 


Drum         Operculum. 

Fig.  7.' — Cicada  {Platylomia  brevis). 

Wings  on  near  side  removed  to  show  position  of  musical  organs. 

brane,  a  structure  of  great  importance  in  the  production 
of  the  sound.  This  is  the  tympanum  or  drum.  In  ap- 
pearance it  reminds  one  somewhat  of  the  organ  with  a 
similar  name  in  the  structure  of  the  human  ear.  Im- 
mediately above  and  overhanging  the  drum  is  a  curved 
plate  that  projects  down  from  the  first  abdominal 
segment.  This  is  obviously  designed  to  protect  the 
drum,  and  may  be  called  the  shield.  These  organs  can 
be  seen  by  a  simple  inspection  (Fig.  7).  The  remain- 
ing two  can  be  in  a  moment  exposed.  If  with  scissors 
a  small  window  is  made  in  the  under  surface  of  the 
abdomen  of  the  cicada,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  greater 
part  of  the  abdomen  is  nothing  but  a  large  air  cavity 


BUTTERFLIES,   MOTHS   AND   CICADAS     213 

and  that  all  the  essential  organs  are  compressed  into  a 
narrow  band  above.  This  air  cavity  may  be  called  the 
abdominal  sac.  We  look  forward  into  this  vacant  sac. 
In  front  we  see  a  pair  of  stout  white  rectangular  muscles 
that  meet  below  in  the  middle  line  and  diverge  as 
they  ascend  to  be  finally  attached  to  the  posterior 
margin  of  the  drum. 

These  are  the  five  organs  to  which  I  wish  to  direct 
attention  :  (i)  the  opercula,  (2)  the  drum,  (3)  the 
shields,   (4)  the  air-sacs,  and  (5)  the  muscles. 

In  order  to  understand  the  mechanism  of  these 
different  organs  it  Is  necessary  to  examine  the  cicada 
while  in  the  act  of  emitting  its  sound.  I  find  the 
insect  at  sunset  singing  on  the  trees.  When  captured, 
it  immediately  ceases,  but  I  squeeze  its  thorax  and  it 
again  gives  forth  its  note.  With  a  pair  of  sharp  scissors 
I  snip  off  the  opercula  ;  the  sound  continues  ;  the  oper- 
cula therefore  are  not  essential  to  the  production  of 
the  noise.  I  amputate  the  shields.  The  music  still 
continues  ;  so  we  reach  a  similar  conclusion  here.  I 
decapitate  the  insect.  Even  then  the  sound  may  re- 
appear ;  the  mechanism  is  therefore  reflex  ;  it  is  not 
in  necessary  subjection  to  the  brain.  I  seek  another 
specimen.  It  is  playing  loudly  on  a  tree.  Its  abdomen 
is  seen  to  distend  and  collapse  in  accordance  with  the 
increase  and  diminution  of  the  pitch.  While  the  note 
is  low  the  body  is  more  flaccid,  but  with  a  rising  pitch 
the  abdomen  swells  into  a  tense  transparent  globe. 
It  would  seem  as  though  the  abdominal  sac  was  there- 
fore an  essential  organ  for  the  production  of  the  sound. 
Let  us  see.  I  catch  the  insect  and  make  a  little 
window  into  its  abdomen  so  as  to  open  freely  into  the 
sac.     There  can  be  no  air  pressure  now,     The  air  will 


214       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

escape  through  the  artificial  hole.  Yet  the  sound  con- 
tinues. The  air  pressure  within  the  sac  is  therefore 
not  the  essential  cause. 

The  only  organs  now  left  for  investigation  are  the 
muscle  and  the  drum. 

It  is  simple  to  experiment  on  these.  I  remove  both 
drums  and  the  insect  remains  permanently  silent.  I 
divide  both  muscles ;  the  result  is  the  same.  The 
cicada  cannot  utter  another  note.  I  take  the  divided 
muscle  in  a  forceps  and  gently  pull  it  and  vibrate 
it.  Even  these  clumsy  efforts  may  generate  a  faint 
note.  The  conclusion  is  clear.  The  muscles  throw 
the  drums  into  vibration,  and  the  vibrating  drums 
originate  the  note. 

The  matter  must  be  considered  a  little  further.  A 
simple  membrane  thrown  into  vibration  by  a  muscle 
could  not  produce  this  powerful  sound  unless  there 
was  something  particular  about  its  structure.  Let  us 
consider  it  in  a  little  detail.  The  drum  is  a  somewhat 
pear-shaped  membrane  about  five-sixteenths  of  an  inch 
in  its  lono-est  and  three-sixteenths  of  an  inch  in  its 
shortest  diameters.  It  has  a  pearly  white  appearance 
and  is  crossed  by  a  series  of  brown  parallel  bands. 
Its  mechanism  is,  I  think,  more  easily  understood  if 
the  drum  is  considered  as  consisting  of  two  parts. 
First,  there  is  the  part  of  the  drum  which  bears  the 
ridges.  It  comprises  the  anterior  half  of  the  organ. 
The  membrane  is  here  soft  and  delicate.  It  is  crossed 
transversely  by  five  chitinous  bars.  The  first  of  these 
bars  is  undeveloped  and  imperfect ;  the  second  is  more 
complete  ;  the  remaining  three  are  firm  and  strong 
and  each  is  thickened  in  the  centre  so  as  to  form  a 
5tout  oval  knob.     Such  is  the  ridged  area  of  the  drum, 


I 


BUTTERFLIES,   MOTHS   AND   CICADAS     215 

The  second  part  Is  the  area  which  bears  the  tooth. 
It  comprises  the  posterior  half  of  the  organ.  It  is 
composed  of  a  hard  elongated  plate  prolonged  above 
into  a  distinct  tooth  that  fits  into  a  recess  immediately 
beneath  the  knob  on  the  last  bar.  The  diagram 
(Fig.  8)  ought  to  make  clear  the  relationship  of  these 
two  essential  parts,  the  thickened  ridges  and  the 
tooth. 

Now  for  the  attachment  of  the  muscle.     When  this 
is  traced  to  its  termination  it  is  seen  to  end  in  a  smooth 


Area 
bearing 
ndges 


Area 

bearing 
toofh 


Bar  with 
central    Knob 

Plate  vvith 
centra  i  tooth 


Fig.  8.— Drum  of  Cicada. 


plate.  A  flat  tendon  then  connects  this  plate  to  the 
posterior  margin  of  that  portion  of  the  drum  which 
bears  the  pointed  tooth  (Fig.  9).  The  muscle  there- 
fore acts  upon  the  drum  and  at  each  contraction  pulls 
upon  the  tooth.  A  rapid  succession  of  muscular  con- 
tractions thus  throws  the  tooth  into  a  quick  vibration. 
At  each  movement  the  tooth  strikes  against  the 
thickened  bar  and  a  single  sound  is  thus  produced. 
Backwards  and  forwards  moves  the  tooth.  The  bar 
is  thrown  Into  a  quick  vibration  and  this  originates  the 
noise. 

There  are  left  the  other  parts,  the  abdominal  cavity, 
the  operculum,  the  shield, 


216       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 


The  function  of  the  abdominal  sac  is  to  control  the 
volume  of  the  note.  The  cavity  is  in  direct  communi- 
cation with  the  inner  surface  of  each  drum.  When  the 
tension  of  the  enclosed  air  increases  then  an  additional 
pressure  is  thrown  upon  the  membrane  ;  the  bars  are 
more  tightly  stretched,  and  therefore,  as  in  the  case  of 
a  violin  string,  they  give  rise  to  a  more  powerful  note. 

The  function  of  the  opercula  is  obscure.  They  lie 
so  close  upon  the  abdomen  that  they  force  the  sound 


■{Oorsal  surface  of  i^.^aDaominal 
I    segment. 


Drurn. 

Chitlnous  rod  of  drum. 

Tooth  of  drum. 

Tendon  connectfn^  muscle  fo  tooth 

Plate  at  end  of  muscle. 

Muscle 


Ventral  surface  of  i^^'abdomfnaJ 
segment 

Fig.  9. — Diagram  to  show  essential  parts  of 
musical  organ  of  Cicada. 

to  issue  through  a  narrow  slit,  and  this  probably 
increases  the  intensity  of  the  note.  It  may  also  be 
possible  that  the  opercula  serve  to  direct  the  sound 
in  a  special  direction  suitable  to  the  purpose  of  the 
insect.  Nevertheless,  these  suggestions  do  not  seem 
to  me  sufficient  to  explain  the  function  of  such  large 
and  conspicuous  organs  as  the  opercula. 

The  shields  are  merely  what  their  name  implies  : 
they  simply  protect  the  fragile  drums. 

vSuch  is  the  musical  organ  of  the  cicada,  a  perfect 


BUTTERFLIES,   MOTHS   AND   CICADAS    217 

mechanism  of  delicacy  and  power.  It  has  no  parallel 
in  the  insect  world  ;  its  sound  has  no  equal  but  that 
of  a  steam  whistle.  Its  component  parts  are  those  of 
a  musical  instrument.  The  pale  membrane  is  the 
supporting  structure  ;  the  bars  are  the  vibrating 
strings  ;  the  muscle  is  the  motive  power  and  the  tooth 
is  the  pointed  finger  that  sounds  the  long  refrain. 
The  whole  mechanism  is  a  wonderful  example  of 
beauty,  simplicity,  and  strength.  It  is  the  most 
perfect  and  exquisite  contrivance  of  its  kind  that  I 
have  ever  been  privileged  to  see. 


CHAPTER   XII 

GLOW-WORMS,    TERMITES    AND    SHELLS 

Habits  and  luminosity  of  glow-worms— Their  contests  with  snails — Flight 
and  destruction  of  termites— Instincts  associated  with  their  distri- 
bution and  preservation — Shedding  of  wings — Habits  of  ant-lions — 
Notes  on  the  dispersal  of  shells. 

An  insect  common  in  the  hills  is  the  glow-worm, 
Lampyris.  They  usually  frequent  the  low-lying-  marshy 
portions  of  the  valley,  but  I  have  found  them  glowing 
actively  in  the  cold  nights  at  an  altitude  of  8000  feet. 
The  female,  as  is  well  known,  looks  like  a  large  con- 
spicuous larva, while  the  male  is  small, active  and  winged. 
The  glow-worms  here  reached  a  length  of  two  and  a 
half  inches  and  shone  with  a  very  brilliant  light.  The 
banks  of  the  irrigation  channels,  the  edges  of  the  rice 
fields,  or  the  moist  ground  beneath  a  garden  hedge 
were  the  spots  where  they  were  most  likely  to  be 
found.  The  Lampyris  lies  quiet  by  day,  motionless 
and  showing  no  light.  In  the  evening  it  grows  rest- 
less ;  its  lamp  begins  to  burn  and  it  crawls  off  in 
search  of  prey.  In  addition  to  its  legs,  its  power  of 
propulsion  is  greatly  aided  by  the  last  abdominal 
segment.  This  is  sometimes  used  as  a  lever  to  push 
forward  the  body.  It  may  also  act  as  a  hook  to 
support  the  glow-worm  when  climbing.  From  the 
extremity  of  this  segment  the  La7npyris  can  protrude 
a  tuft  of  slender  filaments  each  terminating  in  a 
delicate  sucker.     These  suckers  are  a  further  aid  to 

218 


GLOW-WORMS,   TERMITES,    SHELLS     210 

progression,  since  by  means  of  them  the  glow-worm 
can  obtain  a  very  firm  hold.  The  insects  also  use 
these  suckers  for  the  purpose  of  cleaning  their  bodies. 
They  feed  on  snails,  and  the  mucus  of  the  prey  often 
smothers  their  bodies  in  slime.  The  glow-worms 
remove  this  by  flexing  their  bodies  and  turning  for- 
ward the  tip  of  the  abdomen  so  as  to  be  able  to  brush 
away  the  mucus  with  their  tuft  of  suckers. 

The  large  females  shine  with  a  very  brilliant  light. 
On  the  under  surface  of  the  eighth  abdominal  segment 
are  two  smooth  white  patches,  oval  in  shape,  one  on 
either  side  of  the  segment.  At  night  these  patches 
emit  a  beautiful  green  light,  of  a  penetrating  nature, 
and  resembling  in  colour  the  brilliant  phosphorescence 
of  the  ocean.  The  light  is  fixed  and  steady  ;  it  does 
not  pulsate  in  the  same  rhythmical  manner  as  in  the 
firefly.  The  glow-worm  shows  a  continuous  gleam  : 
the  firefly  is  a  twinkling  star.  Owing  to  the  luminous 
patches  being  directed  downwards,  the  lights  are  largely 
hidden  from  above.  The  portion  of  the  ground  on 
which  the  rays  fall  is  a  transverse  patch,  since  the 
light  spreads  out  on  either  side  of  the  abdomen.  One 
large  female  illuminated  an  area  of  newspaper  one  inch 
in  length  with  sufficient  intensity  to  enable  me  to  read 
the  print.  None  of  the  rays  extend  to  the  head  of 
the  insect,  so  that  the  light  can  be  of  no  assistance 
in  the  findinor  of  food.  Nor  can  it  be  thoui^ht  that 
a  light,  so  concealed  beneath  the  abdomen  that  most 
of  its  rays  are  hidden,  could  be  of  much  use  for  one 
insect  to  attract  another.  I  do  not  think  a  glow-worm 
is  capable  even  of  perceiving  a  light.  At  all  events, 
one,  which  I  kept  apart  for  twenty-four  hours,  did  not 
seem  to  take  any  notice  of  a  brilliantly  glowing  female 


220       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

which  I  held  close  to  it.  Indeed,  they  seem  to  be 
almost  destitute  of  any  special  sense.  I  have  seen 
them  pass  and  repass  within  half  an  inch  of  their  prey 
quite  oblivious  of  its  presence,  and  then,  after  running 
accidentally  against  it,  commence  their  fierce  attack. 
Glow-worms  are  active  throughout  the  whole  night, 
not  continuously,  but  at  intervals.  An  hour  before 
dawn  I  have  seen  them  shining  in  the  damp  fields, 
and  some,  which  I  kept  in  a  box,  were  brilliantly  phos- 
phorescent when  the  first  rays  of  light  were  appearing 
in  the  sky. 

The  glow-worm  is  provident  of  its  light.  By  day  it 
is  usually  extinguished  ;  at  night  its  intensity  seems  to 
depend  on  different  causes.  It  is  not  the  dark  that 
stimulates  luminosity,  for  I  watched  glow-worms  kept 
in  a  dark  box  throughout  the  day  and  they  showed 
not  the  trace  of  a  glow.  There  seems  to  be  a  relation 
between  general  bodily  activity  and  luminosity.  An 
energetic  glow-worm  is  usually  the  most  brilliant. 
By  day  the  insects  are  motionless,  but  I  once  saw  one 
of  a  group  distinctly  active  in  the  daylight  and  it 
showed  a  clear  glow.  Mechanical  stimulation  induces 
luminosity.  If  a  glow-worm  is  stroked  on  the  dorsal 
surface  it  often  displays  its  light.  I  severed  one  trans- 
versely a  short  distance  behind  the  head  and  the 
phosphorescence  continued  for  two  minutes  after  de- 
capitation, but  the  muscular  contractions  of  the  limbs 
and  abdomen  still  remained  and  were  quite  active  one 
and  a  quarter  hours  later.  The  light  of  the  glow-worm 
does  not  burst  suddenly  into  full  flare  as  in  the  case 
of  the  firefly.  It  appears  gradually  and  comes  slowly 
to  a  maximum.  Its  disappearance  is  even  more 
gradual,    fading    imperceptibly    away.     Fireflies   are 


GLOW-WORMS,   TERMITES,    SHELLS    221 

replete  with  energy  ;  glow-worms  stolid  but  inert ; 
so  it  is  with  their  luminary  organs  ;  the  one  pulsates 
with  active  flashes,  the  other  burns  with  a  steady 
glow.  The  two  luminous  areas  usually  shine  together, 
each  with  the  same  intensity.  This,  however,  is  not 
essential.  I  once  watched  a  orlow-worm  in  which  the 
patch  on  the  right  side  was  glowing,  while  that  on 
the  left  showed  not  a  trace  of  lii>ht.  A  faint  pleam 
soon  began  to  appear  in  the  non-luminous  area  which, 
gradually  increasing,  at  length  equalled  the  brilliancy 
of  the  right.  Thus  it  would  seem  that  the  nervous 
stimulus  which  controls  the  light  may  have  either  a 
unilateral  or  bilateral  action. 

Moisture  has  a  powerful  influence  in  exciting 
luminosity.  Glow-worms  are  most  activ^e  and  usually 
congregate  in  damp  places.  After  a  shower  of  rain 
or  when  a  heavy  dew  covers  the  ground  their  phos- 
phorescence is  more  intense.  I  kept  some  glow-worms 
away  from  moisture  for  twenty-four  hours.  I  then 
touched  the  luminous  areas  with  a  drop  of  water  on  a 
fine  brush  and  the  luminosity  increased.  Even  by 
day,  when  the  insects  are  inactive,  the  lights  will 
often  shine  under  the  stimulus  of  a  drop  of  water, 
and  within  a  minute  of  comins:  in  contact  with  the 
moisture,  they  often  glow  with  the  same  brilliancy  as 
at  night.  If  the  insect  is  then  placed  on  a  piece  of 
blotting-paper  to  remove  the  moisture,  the  luminosity 
will  disappear.  Of  seven  glow-worms  that  I  kept  in 
a  tin  box,  I  noticed  that  only  two  were  feebly  shining 
on  a  clear  dry  evening.  I  allowed  some  water  to 
drop  gently  amongst  them  so  as  to  resemble  the 
falling  of  rain,  and  as  each  glow-worm  felt  a  drop  of 
the  fluid,  it  immediately  became  more  active,  began  to 


222       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

show  its  light,  until  in  a  short  time  all  were  glowing 
brightly  and  creeping  in  every  direction  over  the  floor 
of  the  box.  Also  when  I  placed  a  box  of  glow-worms 
in  a  shower  of  rain  many  of  them  became  phosphor- 
escent even  before  sundown.  It  is  not  essential  to 
moisten  the  luminary  organs,  for  a  drop  of  moisture 
on  the  head  of  the  insect  produces  a  similar  effect. 
The  fluid  has  therefore  a  retlex  action.  The  moisture 
increases  the  muscular  activity  of  the  glow-worm,  so 
that  it  might  be  thought  to  excite  luminosity  in  the 
same  way  as  gently  stroking  the  insect's  back.  But 
this  is  not  so.  Irritating  the  glow-worm  by  blowing 
at  it  or  stroking  it  never  produces  the  same  intensity 
of  glow  as  does  the  presence  of  a  drop  of  moisture. 
Contact  with  moisture  has  a  special  power  in  develop- 
ing the  luminosity  of  these  insects.  It  is  not  alone 
water  that  excites  the  light.  A  drop  of  spirit  has  a 
similar  effect,  and  none  shine  more  vividly  than  those 
which  are  enveloped  in  the  moist  and  viscid  mucus 
thrust  over  them  by  snails.  Moisture  of  any  kind  is 
the  chief  stimulus  to  luminous  activity. 

At  night  it  is  not  the  influence  of  darkness  that  calls 
forth  the  light,  but  rather  the  profuse  dew  that  covers 
all  the  ground.  The  insects  which  I  kept  in  absolute 
darkness  by  day  showed  no  light.  Nor  is  it  the  case 
that  the  advent  of  darkness  coincides  with  the  appear- 
ance of  the  glow-worm's  light.  Luminosity  does  not 
appear  until  an  hour  or  more  after  sundown,  when  the 
earth  has  sufficiently  cooled  to  permit  the  deposit  of 
a  layer  of  dew.  In  all  likelihood  the  luminous  activity 
of  the  glow-worm  is  under  a  rhythmical  sway,  appearing 
by  night  and  disappearing  by  day  through  the  regular 
pulsations   of  an    internal    nervous    mechanism.      But 


GLOW-WORMS,   TERMITES,    SHELLS     223 

this  mechanism  is  dependent  in  part  on  external 
stimuH  of  which  one  of  the  chief  is  moisture  and  one 
of  the  least  important  is  the  absence  of  light. 

Phosphorescent  animals  in  general  live  in  close 
association  with  moisture.  The  luminous  inhabitants 
of  the  sea  exemplify  this.  Not  only  many  of  the 
species  that  live  at  great  depths,  but  the  little  globular 
Noctihica  that  stain  the  surface  of  the  ocean  with 
patches  of  rusty  red,  are  brilliantly  phosphorescent. 
The  glow  of  the  Noctihica  resembles  that  of  the 
Lainpyris,  the  light  being  a  similar  shade  of  green. 
It  is  specially  attractive  on  a  summer  night  in  the 
Persian  Gulf.  The  surface  of  the  ocean  gleams  with 
light.  Each  little  ripple  is  an  evanescent  glowing 
gem,  one  amongst  millions  in  the  quivering  sea. 
From  the  bows  of  a  ship  two  curling"  waves  diverge, 
displaying  first  their  gleaming  crests,  and  then,  spread- 
ing into  a  sheet  of  foam,  they  shine  like  burnished 
silver.  Porpoises  roll  in  rivers  of  light,  and  flying-fish, 
in  glistening  streaks,  flash  through  the  dark  sky.  The 
phosphorescence  of  animals  is  as  beautiful  as  its  origin 
and  object  is  unknown. 

Glow-worms  have  long  been  known  to  feed  on 
snails.  I  witnessed  the  attack  of  a  large  glow-worm 
on  its  prey.  The  snail  was  crawling  over  the  ground, 
and  the  Lavipy^^is,  coming  up  behind  it,  climbed  on 
to  the  shell  and  remained  seated  on  the  summit  while 
the  snail  moved  onwards.  The  elow-worm  then 
gradually  altered  its  seat  on  the  snail's  back ;  it 
methodically  worked  itself  into  a  position  suitable 
for  attack  until  its  head  projected  forward  over  the 
anterior  edge  of  the  shell.  The  beetle  was  now 
firmly  fixed.      By  means  of  its  hind  suckers  it  had  a 


224       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

secure  hold  on  the  shell,  and  its  head  overhuno-  the 
soft  body  of  the  snail  in  readiness  to  strike.  Suddenly, 
and  with  much  greater  rapidity  than  might  be  expected 
from  so  sluggish  an  insect,  the  Lauipyris  plunged  its 
head  beneath  the  front  margin  of  the  shell.  Immedi- 
ately  the  snail  withdrew  its  head  into  the  shelter,  but 
the  retreat  was  too  late.  The  glow-worm's  mandibles 
were  already  fixed.  The  snail  struggled.  Large  drops 
of  viscid  mucus  oozed  out  from  beneath  its  shell,  but 
this  did  not  affect  the  glow-worm.  The  snail  squirmed 
from  side  to  side,  now  rolled  its  body  to  the  right, 
now  to  the  left  in  the  struggle  to  throw  off  its  enemy. 
Its  efforts  were  of  no  avail.  Deeper  and  deeper  sunk 
the  head  of  the  Lampyris  into  the  soft  tissues  of  its 
prey.  The  victim  was  doomed.  There  was  no  escape 
from  such  an  attack  as  this.  The  snail  writhed  in 
agony ;  every  muscle  was  convulsed  ;  the  whole  body 
swayed  in  violent  contortions  ;  the  thick  fleshy  foot 
was  twisted  into  a  rigid  corkscrew,  then  untwisted, 
then  again  rescrewed,  then  curled  up  in  the  vain  effort 
to  sweep  its  enemy  off  the  shell.  Every  gland  poured 
out  its  mucus  until  enemy  and  victim  were  both  en- 
veloped in  the  same  slime.  But  the  glow-worm  still 
clung  on,  persisting  in  its  fierce  attack.  Its  mandibles 
were  now  deeply  buried.  It  seemed  to  be  striking  at 
the  very  vitals  of  its  prey.  Its  luminous  powers  shared 
its  muscular  efforts,  for  it  glowed  with  an  intense  light. 
Its  hold  on  the  shell  was  firm.  Its  suckers  had  a 
secure  grip.  No  bodily  contortion  could  unseat  it. 
And  its  place  on  the  very  summit  of  the  shell  was  so 
well  chosen  that,  no  matter  how  the  snail  twisted  itself 
to  the  right  or  to  the  left,  it  could  never  crush  its 
adversary  between  its  shell  and  the  ground. 


GLOW-WORMS,    TERMITES,    SHELLS     225 

After  aljout  ten  minutes  the  snail  had  clearly  given 
up  the  struggle.  Its  efforts  slowly  died  away.  In 
eight  minutes  more  it  was  quiescent,  and  the  glow- 
worm withdrew  its  head,  now  covered  in  a  dense  mass 
of  snail-flesh  and  slime.  It  then  commenced  to  clean 
away  the  mucus  from  its  head  and  limbs,  and  this 
being  complete,  it  again  returned  to  its  victim.  Slowly 
it  mounted  to  its  previous  seat  on  the  shell,  and  bury- 
ing its  head  in  the  under  surface  of  the  snail's  foot,  it 
began  to  devour  the  dying  flesh.  The  brilliant  light 
now  subsided  to  its  normal  glow,  as  though  to  mark 
the  end  of  this  little  tragedy  of  nature.  Hour  after 
hour  the  Lampyris  clung  to  its  vanquished  prey,  and 
not  till  fourteen  hours  had  elapsed  did  it  cease  to  feed 
on  the  flesh  which  by  then  was  decomposed  and 
putrid. 

Who  would  think  that  these  pretty  glow-worms 
would  join  in  so  intense  a  battle  ?  The  face  of  Nature 
may  deceive  us,  we  see  so  much  apparent  peace. 
The  birds,  the  butterflies,  the  fishes  of  the  sea,  all  the 
brilliant  tints  and  joyous  notes  seem  to  bear  witness 
to  a  life  of  happiness  and  concord.  Yet  how  false  is 
such  a  picture.  All  is  war  and  carnage  ;  greed  and 
cruelty  are  the  ruthless  weapons  with  which  Nature 
fights,  and  every  living  creature  must  be  a  victor  or  a 
victim  in  the  battle.  Would  that  we  could  believe 
that  the  little  glow-worms,  apparently  so  innocent  and 
gentle,  were  beautiful  merely  to  be  beautiful,  and 
glittered  with  a  bright  green  starlight  merely  to  illu- 
minate the  world  around.  But  they  play  a  sterner 
part.  They  occupy  a  rough  place  in  life's  struggle. 
They  wage  a  cruel  and  relentless  war. 

I  pass  now  to  another  of  these  contests  in  which  life 


226       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

is  pitied  against  life.  The  termites,  or  white  ants, 
were  not  very  common  at  the  altitude  of  this  valley, 
but  they  were  sufficient  to  indicate  how  great  is  the 
destruction  of  certain  species  at  some  special  moment 
of  their  lives.  At  the  time  of  the  emergence  of  the 
sexual  forms  of  the  termites  another  drama  is  opened 
to  our  view. 

A  seething  mass  of  insect  life  swarms  about  the 
aperture  of  the  nest.  The  workers  have  broken 
through  the  galleries  ;  they  have  excavated  apertures 
in  the  sides  of  their  tunnels  throuoh  which  the  winoed 
forms  can  easily  emerge.  Out  they  come  in  a  dense 
throng.  They  squeeze  themselves  through  the  newly 
opened  doors  ;  others  follow  in  thousands  ;  a  few  push 
their  way  back  into  the  tunnels,  but  the  main  body, 
after  crawling  for  a  few  minutes  about  the  opening, 
scramble  up  the  stems  of  the  bushes  or  the  blades 
of  grass  and  then  take  wing  into  the  air.  The 
soldiers  and  the  ordinary  workers  remain  busy  about 
the  apertures.  They  are  filled  with  activity  and 
energy.  They  seem  to  realize  the  importance  of  the 
event.  The  soldiers  resent  the  slightest  intrusion  or 
interference.  They  are  ferocious  to  a  degree.  If 
touched,  they  make  an  immediate  attack.  They  drive 
their  sharp  curved  fangs  into  the  skin  and  exude  a 
milky  irritating  juice. 

Let  us  follow  the  winged  forms  into  the  air.  Their 
journey  is  a  short  one.  The  sharp  eye  of  an  insec- 
tivorous bird  soon  detects  them  and  they  are  instantly 
devoured.  Other  termites  rapidly  follow,  but  their 
enemies  have  found  them  out.  Birds  great  and  small 
come  flocking  to  the  scene ;  little  chats  and  bulbuls 
vie    with    hawks   and    pariah    kites    in    the   work   of 


GLOW-WORMS,    TERMITES,    SHELLS     227 

carnage.  All  nature  appears  set  on  their  destruction. 
Round  about  the  nest  the  crows  and  mynas  con- 
gregate in  hundreds,  devouring  the  living  morsels  as 
they  emerge  into  the  light.  Those  that  succeed  in 
escaping  into  the  air  are  seized  by  drongos,  shrikes 
or  bulbuls  that  dart  out  from  every  tree.  Swifts  and 
swallows  meet  them  at  higher  altitudes,  and  kestrels 
swoop  down  on  them  from  above. 

I  sat  down  beside  a  nest  and  watched  the  ants 
emerge  to  take  wing  upon  their  fatal  voyage.  Thou- 
sands of  hungry  birds  were  cackling  and  chattering 
in  an  angry  tumult  or  were  darting  and  swooping 
through  the  air.  I  carefully  noted  the  fate  of  fifty 
consecutive  termites  as  they  embarked  into  the  sky, 
but  not  one  of  them  succeeded  in  travelling  thirty 
feet  before  it  was  devoured.  On  all  sides  could 
be  heard  the  incessant  snapping  of  beaks  and  the 
rustling  of  feathers.  I  could  not  see  a  single  insect 
escape.  Not  only  were  the  insectivorous  birds 
devouring  them,  but  the  house-crows  and  jungle- 
crows  were  snapping  them  on  the  wing,  pariah 
kites,  both  with  feet  and  beak,  were  seizing  them 
in  the  air,  and  at  one  moment  no  less  than  six 
kestrels  were  hovering  over  them  or  swooping  on 
them  from  above.  A  filthy  scavenger-vulture  was 
swallowing  them  greedily  from  off  the  ground,  and 
those  which  I  protected  at  the  mouth  of  the  nest  were 
being  attacked  by  a  host  of  carnivorous  ants,  to  be 
dragged  again  beneath  the  soil.  Nor  is  the  emergence 
of  the  termites  a  mere  event  of  the  passing  hour. 
Its  memory  still  lasts,  for  two  days  later  the  jungle- 
crows  were  still  congregated  around  the  nest  as 
though  in  anticipation  of  a   further  feast. 


228       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

I  know  of  no  other  living  creature  that  has  such 
an  array  of  enemies  or  that  loses  such  thousands  that 
one  may  live.  At  this  one  nest  I  counted  sixteen 
different  species  of  birds  all  joining  in  the  common 
feast.  On  the  shrubs  around  were  sparrows,  shrikes, 
buntings,  mynas,  drongos,  bush-chats  and  three 
species  of  bulbuls.  Higher  in  the  sky  were  swallows 
and  swifts,  and  the  larger  birds  were  represented  by 
house-crows,  jungle-crows,  kites,  kestrels  and  vultures. 
I  would  never  have  thought  that  buntings  would  have 
forsaken  the  seeds  of  the  fields  or  scavenger-vultures 
their  foul  refuse  to  feed  on  insects,  and  on  another 
occasion  I  have  seen  both  owls  and  seagulls  captur- 
ing them  in  the  air.  When  the  termites  emerge  all 
flock  to  the  feast ;  the  old  accustomed  food  is 
forgotten  ;    all  aid  in  the  work  of  destruction. 

I  do  not  believe  that  in  the  broad  daylight 
a  single  inhabitant  of  this  nest  would  ever  have 
escaped  its  enemies.  It  was  the  darkness  of  night 
that  saved  them.  They  then  face  bats,  reptiles  and 
other  insectivorous  foes,  but  the  shrieking  multitude 
of  the  day,  gorged  to  repletion,  has  slunk  away  to 
roost.  The  termites  have  now  a  chance  of  life.  In 
the  fading  light  of  the  evening  I  saw  numbers  of 
them  hovering  over  the  grass  in  my  garden  after  their 
enemies  had  retired  for  the  night.  They  had  escaped 
in  safety  from  the  nest,  were  descending  to  the  earth 
after  their  precarious  flight,  and  alighting,  were  casting 
off  their  now  useless  winsfs. 

There  are  a  few  points  worth  notice  in  this  sexual 
flight  of  the  termites.  It  is  interesting  to  observe  in 
connection  with  the  preservation  of  the  species  that 
the  flight   from  the   nest  usually  occurs  a  few  hours 


GLOW-WORMS,    TERMITES,   SHELLS     229 

before  sunset.  In  this  valley  the  termites  were  not 
numerous.  I  saw  only  four  flights  in  the  one  season, 
yet  all  these  flights  took  place  an  hour  or  two  before 
dark.  I  have  never  seen  a  flight  at  any  other  time. 
So  long  as  the  daylight  lasts  the  termites  undergo 
a  merciless  destruction  ;  but  as  the  darkness  increases, 
many  of  them  escape  to  found  new  colonies  elsewhere. 
If  the  complete  flight  of  all  termites  was  to  take  place 
in  the  full  daylight,  the  species  would,  I  believe,  in  a 
few  years  become  extinct. 

Another  fact  which  must  be  of  some  importance  to 
the  survival  of  the  swarm  is  that  the  termites  in  their 
nuptial  flight  ascend  to  comparatively  great  heights. 
They  soon  pass  beyond  human  vision  ;  but,  from  the 
way  the  swifts  and  kites  can  be  seen  hawking  after 
them  in  the  air,  it  is  clear  that  many  must  reach  an 
altitude  of  at  least  a  thousand  feet.  This  instinct 
which  impels  the  termites  to  considerable  elevations 
must  be  a  distinct  aid  to  the  survival  of  the  species. 
In  the  first  place,  the  insects  are  liable  to  meet  with 
high  aerial  currents  which  will  waft  them  over  long 
distances  and  in  this  way  increase  their  area  of 
distribution.  But  a  Qrreater  advantag-e  must  rest  in 
the  fact  that  those  individuals  which  reach  a  con- 
siderable height  will  leave  behind  them  a  host  of 
enemies,  and  will  therefore  be  the  more  likely  to 
survive.  No  doubt  they  meet  swallows,  swifts, 
kestrels,  kites,  at  all  elevations,  but  they  have  escaped 
the  far  greater  multitude  of  insectivorous  creatures 
that  would  decimate  them  near  the  ground. 

Towards  the  termination  of  the  flight  the  termites 
seem  to  undergo  a  natural  exhaustion.  They  descend 
vertically  from  the  higher  elevations  as  though  they 


230       A  NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

had  no  longer  sufficient  strength  to  propel  them 
further  through  the  air.  They  fall  upon  the  grass  and 
bushes,  then  climb  out  upon  the  twigs,  the  leaves,  the 
stones,  where  they  begin  forcibly  to  vibrate  their  wings. 

Another  point  to  be  noted  in  the  nuptial  flight  is 
the  fact  that  the  termites  seem  to  possess  a  definite 
sense  of  direction.  Indeed,  from  the  way  they  are 
often  seen  to  move  all  in  the  same  course,  it  might 
almost  be  said  that  their  flight  was  in  a  sense  a 
migration  of  the  swarm.  The  insects,  when  they  first 
escape  from  the  nest,  seem  somewhat  confused.  They 
are  lost  amidst  the  entanglement  of  trees  and  jungle 
and  they  flutter  aimlessly  about.  But  their  instinct 
is  to  ascend.  Soon  they  clear  the  trees,  and  then  it 
is  obvious  that  all  the  termites  are  pursuing  the  same 
predestined  course.  They  are  free  from  obstruction 
in  the  clear  air,  and  then  all  move  in  the  same 
direction  and  in  one  uniform  flow.  It  is  difficult  not 
to  believe  that  all  are  guided  by  some  special  sense 
to  move  in  a  common  line. 

It  has  often  struck  me  as  a  remarkable  fact  that 
many  colonies  of  termites  scattered  over  a  wide  area 
will  often  give  forth  their  sexual  forms  all  at  the 
same  time.  I  recall  the  first  flic^ht  of  the  season. 
Many  nests,  perhaps  thirty  or  forty  in  number,  dis- 
tributed over  an  area  of  about  five  square  miles  and 
through  a  zone  of  altitude  of  600  feet,  were  all  in 
eruption  at  the  very  selfsame  hour.  There  was  no 
connection  between  these  nests,  yet  all  burst  into 
activity  as  though  it  was  a  single  swarm.  What  force 
is  it  that  can  so  influence  these  termites  as  to  cause  a 
number  of  widely  separated  nests  to  send  forth  their 
sexual  forms  at  the  same  moment  of  the  same  day  ? 


GLOW-WORMS,    TERMITES,    SHELLS     231 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing-  pecuHar  in  the  conditions 
of  the  atmosphere.  Clouds  hung  about  the  hills,  and 
there  was  a  sensation  of  impending  rain.  But  this  is 
scarcely  sufficient  to  account  for  such  a  uniform  effect. 
Whatever  may  be  the  original  cause  of  the  phe- 
nomenon, I  think  there  can  be  little  doubt  that 
it  is  of  real  value  to  the  propagation  of  the  species. 
No  one  has  shown  with  greater  force  than  Darwin 
how  danorerous  are  the  effects  of  close  interbreedino; 
and  how  marked  is  the  improvement  in  both  vigour 
and  fertility  that  follows  on  the  union  of  different 
strains.  This,  1  think,  must  be  the  object  that  Nature 
has  in  view.  It  secures  the  special  benefits  of  fertiliza- 
tion that  follow  on  the  union  between  different  nests. 
For  this  reason  all  emerge  at  the  same  time  and 
interminMe  in  one  common  stream.  We  can  seldom 
understand  how  Nature  works  ;  we  can  only  wonder 
at  the  results  that  she  attains. 

The  shedding  of  the  wings  is  an  extraordinary 
phenomenon.  It  takes  place  so  suddenly,  all  four 
wings  at  the  same  moment,  that  it  looks  as  if  it  were  a 
premeditated  and  voluntary  act  on  the  part  of  the  insect. 
I  do  not  think  that  this  is  the  case,  for  if  the  insect  is 
decapitated  and  the  brain  thus  removed,  the  wings  will 
still  fall  off.  Nor  is  the  flifrht  throuo^h  the  air  or  the 
vigorous  vibration  and  flapping  of  the  wings  which 
the  insect  makes  after  alighting  in  any  way  necessary, 
for  I  find  that,  if  an  insect  is  captured  before  flight 
and  confined  beneath  a  watch-glass  where  it  can 
scarcely  move,  the  wings  will  still  come  away.  The 
act  is  hastened  by  any  sudden  stimulus.  Decapita- 
tion, puncturing  the  thorax,  even  mere  handling  of 
the  insect,  may  cause  the  wings  to  be  cast  off. 


232       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

After  the  winces  have  fallen  the  insects  then  hide 
themselves  beneath  the  stones  or  make  their  way  into 
the  crevices  in  the  ground.  They  commence  to  dig 
but  make  only  slow  progress.  By  the  following 
morning  many  are  still  so  near  the  surface  that  they 
are  unearthed  by  the  hungry  crows.  I  do  not  know 
at  what  moment  sexual  union  actually  occurs.  Any 
one  who  has  watched  a  flight  of  termites  will  have 
noticed  how,  after  the  wings  have  fallen,  the  insects 
do  not  wander  indiscriminately  about,  but  rather 
separate  themselves  into  distinct  pairs.  The  ground 
is  often  covered  with  these  segregated  couples,  yet 
actual  union  is  never  seen.  I  am  inclined  to  think 
that  the  object  of  the  termites  in  separating  into 
sexual  pairs  is  not,  as  might  at  first  be  imagined,  to 
secure  immediate  union.  It  is  rather  a  device  to 
make  certain  that  each  new  nest  which  is  established 
should  contain  a  productive  pair.  The  loss  of  life 
amongst  the  termites  is  so  severe  that  certain  special 
provisions  must  be  made  to  help  the  survival  of  the 
race.  This  is  one  of  these  provisions  :  that  whenever 
the  time  of  union  comes,  the  sexes  may  be  found 
distributed  through  the  ground  in  suitable  sexual  pairs. 

I  pass  to  another  neuropterous  insect.  Loose 
sandy  patches,  often  on  the  summit  of  a  low,  rounded 
hill,  might  be  found  occupied  by  a  colony  of  Myrme- 
leonid  larvae.  These  ant-lions  are  well  known,  especi- 
ally the  pits  that  they  excavate  in  the  sand  to  capture 
their  prey.  The  hilly  country  was  unsuited  to  their 
work,  and  I  never  saw  them  above  5000  feet. 

•  The  larvae  are  very  small,  not  more  than  one-quarter 
of  an  inch  in  length.  Each  possesses  a  stout  oval 
abdomen    and    a    small    head     furnished    with    strong 


GLOW-WORMS,    TERMITES,    SHELLS    233 

curved  jaws.  The  larva  lives  at  the  bottom  of  a 
conical  pit,  and  whenever  there  existed  a  smooth 
sandy  area  suitable  for  the  construction  of  the  pits, 
there  a  number  of  the  larvae  would  congregate  together 
in  little  communities  of  ten  to  twenty  individuals, 
though  each  pit  never  contained  more  than  one  larva. 
The  pits  are  from  half  to  one  inch  in  depth.  A 
casual  glance  into  the  pit  reveals  nothing,  but 
after  careful  observation  with  the  eye  close  to  the 
mouth  of  the  pit,  a  pair  of  tiny  jaws  can  be  detected 
projecting  like  pin-points  from  the  sand.  The  whole 
body  of  the  larva  is  concealed ;  only  the  tips  of  the 
open  jaws  appear  in  the  pit.  Small  insects,  especially 
ants,  are  continually  falling  into  these  pits.  When 
crawling  leisurely  over  the  surface  they  usually 
appreciate  their  danger  when  on  the  brink  of  the 
precipice ;  but  if  in  the  slightest  degree  alarmed, 
they  stumble  over  the  edge,  fall  into  the  trap,  and  are 
seized  in  a  pair  of  powerful  jaws.  The  ant  struggles 
to  escape  ;  it  tries  to  scramble  up  the  sloping  side  of 
the  abyss  while  the  ant-lion  firmly  clings  to  it  below. 
It  strives  to  drag  itself  from  this  grasp,  but  only  tears 
down  the  soft  crumbling  sand  which  engulfs  it  still 
more  firmly  in  the  pit.  Should  it  break  away  from 
the  cruel  jaws,  the  ant-lion  throws  up  in  the  air  little 
spouts  of  sand,  and  these  in  their  fall  sweep  the 
victim  back.  At  length  it  is  drawn  deeper  into  the 
snare  by  the  traction  of  those  powerful  jaws,  and  is 
buried  in  the  debris  that  it  has  pulled  down  upon 
its  own  head.  Thus  engulfed,  escape  is  no  longer 
possible ;  the  ant-lion  at  leisure  devours  the  juices  of 
the  insect's  body,  casts  the  empty  shell  out  of  the 
pit  and  lies  in  wait  for  a  fresh  victim. 


234       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

Ant-lions  are  cannibals.  I  took  a  larva  from  one 
pit  and  placed  it  in  another  pit.  The  owner  resented 
the  intrusion  and  treated  the  strano^er  with  the  same 
severity  that  it  metes  out  to  any  other  insect. 

I  observed  on  more  than  one  occasion  that,  after 
an  ant  had  succeeded  in  escaping  from  the  pit,  it 
moved  about  with  the  greatest  circumspection,  study- 
ing every  step  for  fear  it  might  fall  into  a  similar  trap. 
The  ant  had  apparently  benefited  by  its  rough  ex- 
perience ;  its  mind  had  proved  susceptible  to  a  simple 
education  which  is  the  most  certain  test  of  animal 
intelligence. 

The  mode  of  construction  of  the  pit  is  ingenious. 
The  larva  commences  by  crawling  backwards  and 
using  the  point  of  its  abdomen  as  a  shovel,  by  means 
of  which  it  digs  its  way  under  the  surface  of 
the  sand.  After  disappearing  from  view  it  moves 
round  so  as  to  make  a  circular  furrow  beneath  the 
soil.  This  circle  is  the  aperture  of  the  pit.  From 
within  the  circle  it  then  commences  to  cast  out  the 
sand  and  thus  deepen  the  depression.  The  sides  slope 
gradually  downwards  to  the  bottom  of  the  pit  where 
the  ant-lion  lies  buried.  After  the  trap  is  fully  con- 
structed, little  particles  of  sand  are  continually  falling 
down  the  crumbling  sides,  but  are  immediately  thrown 
out  by  the  occupant.  As  well  as  I  could  observe,  the 
larva  fixes  its  stout  abdomen  in  the  sand,  and,  using 
this  as  a  point  of  fixation,  it  jerks  the  head  and  jaws 
suddenly  upwards  and  pitches  out  at  each  thrust  a 
little  cloud  of  sand. 

The  strength  of  the  creature  must  be  prodigious  in 
proportion  to  its  bulk.  I  have  seen  it  hurling  clear 
out  of  the    bottom    of   the    pit   small   pebbles  ten  to 


GLOW-WORMS,    TERMITES,    SHELLS     235 

twenty  times  its  own  weight.  It  works  very  inter- 
mittently, a  long  pause  being  made  after  a  few  violent 
exertions.  This  must  be  a  necessary  division  of  rest 
and  labour  in  a  creature  that  employs  such  sudden 
and  impetuous  efforts.  Should  a  stone,  which  is 
beyond  the  strength  of  the  larva  to  remove,  tumble 
into  the  pit,  it  burrows  a  little  to  one  side  until  clear 
of  the  obstruction,  then  commences  to  hurl  up  sand, 
and  thus  constructs  a  fresh  dwelling-place  by  shifting 
laterally  the  bottom  of  the  pit. 

On  a  still  day  the  ant-lion  patiently  waits  in  the 
floor  of  its  funnel  till  the  unwary  ant  tumbles  in.  But 
in  windy  weather  the  larva  leads  a  more  strenuous 
life.  The  force  of  the  wind  continually  levels  the 
surface  of  the  sand  ;  every  depression  in  the  ground 
is  to  some  degree  lessened  and  the  pit  of  the  ant-lion 
tends  to  be  filled  in.  Grains  of  sand  pour  down  the 
sides  of  the  pit ;  it  would  soon  be  flush  with  the 
surface  did  not  the  ant-lion  make  every  effort  to 
contest  the  downpour.  It  hurls  out  the  sand  as  fast 
as  it  rolls  in  ;  in  circles  it  revolves  round  and  round 
the  bottom  of  its  cone,  pitching  out  the  sand  that 
would  engulf  it.  Every  day  of  wind  is  for  this  larva 
a  day  of  continuous  toil. 

Though  ant-lions  are  almost  always  seen  waiting 
in  the  bottom  of  their  pits,  yet  they  sometimes  wander 
about  on  the  surface  of  the  sand.  A  number  seem 
to  move  about  at  the  same  time,  leaving  in  their  tracks 
lines  of  sinuous  furrows  as  though  a  crowd  of  tiny 
snakes  had  been  creeping  through  the  dust. 

I  will  now  mention  a  few  observations  on  the  fresh- 
water shells  of  the  valley.  The  dispersal  of  shells  is  a 
subject  which  has  excited  the  interest  of  our  greatest 


236       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

naturalists,  and  many  interesting  methods  have  been 
discovered  by  means  of  which  the  various  species 
increase  their  geographical  range. 

In  this  district  man,  by  his  mode  of  cultivation, 
seems  to  be  the  most  important  agent  in  effecting 
the  dispersal  of  shells  both  of  the  land  and  the  fresh 
water.  On  the  broad  fields  in  the  beds  of  the  valleys 
and  on  the  narrow  tiers  of  terraces  rising  up  the  slopes 
of  the  mountains  the  cultivator  sows  his  crops  of  rice. 
Rice  fields  need  an  abundance  of  water ;  in  fact  the 
crop,  in  order  to  thrive,  must  stand  in  a  watery  swamp. 
To  effect  this  the  cultivator  diverts  the  water  from 
the  mountain  streams  and  carries  it  in  channels  over 
the  land.  From  the  main  channel  smaller  water- 
courses conduct  the  fluid  to  the  cultivated  area,  and 
still  smaller  channels  connect  field  with  field.  Thus 
vast  expanses  of  land  are  fed  with  the  water  from  one 
stream,  and,  by  means  of  channels,  all  the  fields  of 
that  large  area  are  in  intercommunication  one  with 
the  other.  Each  field  is  swarming  with  molluscs, 
chiefly  Liinncca,  Pla7iorbis  and  bivalves,  and,  as  the 
water  flows  from  field  to  field,  many  of  the  smaller 
shells  must  be  swept  along  with  it.  The  molluscs 
also  crawl  on  to  twigs  or  adhere  to  the  under  surface 
of  floating  leaves,  and  are  thus  drifted  along  the 
channels  from  field  to  field.  I  think  numbers  must 
be  floated  away  on  leaves,  for  I  collected  many  from 
a  clump  of  herbage  that  had  temporarily  obstructed 
one  of  the  channels. 

No  living  agent  is  so  powerful  as  man  in  influencing 
the  course  of  organic  nature.  Here  the  husbandmen 
sow  large  areas  of  their  land  with  rice,  and  to  nourish 
it  they  conduct  the  water  from  the  streams,  lead  it  by 


GLOW-WORMS,    TERMITES,    SHELLS     237 

intricate  channels  into  innumerable  smaller  water- 
courses. The  land-shells  that  cover  that  area  will  be 
moved  onward  by  the  advancing  flow,  and  the  water- 
shells  that  occupy  the  mountain  streams  will  be  spread 
over  the  now  swampy  land. 

I  will  mention  one  other  observation  in  connection 
with  the  dispersal  of  shells.  Just  below  the  summit  of 
one  of  the  forest-clad  hills  that  confine  the  valley,  and 
at  an  altitude  of  8800  feet,  I  found  a  shallow  muddy 
pool  not  more  than  twenty  yards  in  width.  A  few 
other  similar  pools  lay  close  by.  The  litde  patches 
of  stagnant  water  were  completely  isolated  on  this 
mountain  top  which  was  bounded  by  deep  valleys 
on  either  side.  Now  this  pool  was  teeming  with 
bivalve  molluscs.  I  never  saw  so  many  bivalves 
together  in  any  pool.  But  I  could  not  find  a  single 
univalve. 

The  questions  arise  :  How  came  this  mountain  pool 
to  be  stocked  with  shells,  and  why  are  there  no 
univalves  ?  I  see  no  other  way  by  which  shells  could 
have  been  carried  to  a  pool  at  such  a  height  except 
in  the  way  suggested  by  Darwin,  namely  by  clinging 
to  the  feet  of  water-birds  and  being  thus  transferred 
from  pool  to  pool.  It  might  be  thought  that  water- 
birds  would  never  visit  a  mountain  summit,  but 
I  was  told  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Lawrence,  who  had 
observed  the  birds  on  this  hill  for  many  years,  that  he 
had  records  of  a  teal  and  a  green  sandpiper  alighting 
on  these  pools. 

How  are  we  to  explain  the  presence  of  bivalves 
alone  ?  Is  it  not  possible  that  bivalves  with  their 
power  of  grasping  objects  between  their  shells  would 
be  more  likely  to  cling  firmly  to  the  toes  or  feathers 


238       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

of  birds  and  therefore  be  carried  more  securely  than 
univalves  ?  Birds  have  frequently  been  shot  with 
cockles  clincrinof  to  their  bills.  Bivalves  have  been 
found  with  their  shells  firmly  closed  on  the  legs  or 
antennae  of  water-beetles,  or  grasping  the  limbs  of 
water-scorpions  or  the  larvae  of  dragon-flies  and  other 
inhabitants  of  fresh-water  pools.  There  would  seem 
to  be  little  doubt  that  the  habit  which  bivalves  possess 
of  lying  with  their  shells  apart  and  closing  tightly 
on  objects  introduced  between  them  would  make  them 
more  liable  to  transportation  than  univalves,  and  give 
them  a  greater  opportunity  of  being  the  first  arrivals 
at  a  newly  formed  and  distant  pool.  This  appeared 
to  me  the  probable  explanation  of  why  this  isolated 
pool  should  have  been  stocked  only  with  bivalves. 

All  creatures  are  dependent  one  on  the  other  in  the 
well-balanced  scheme  of  life.  One  species  is  essential 
to  another  for  food,  to  another  for  shelter,  to  another 
for  the  rearing  of  its  young.  Destroy  any  one  species, 
and  some  other  will  surely  suffer  Even  the  life  of 
the  molluscs  is  interwoven  with  that  of  the  higher 
animals  in  that  they  use  the  migration  of  the  birds  and 
the  agricultural  devices  of  man  as  an  unconscious 
mode  of  transport  to  scatter  them  over  the  surface 
of  the  earth. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

OBSERVATIONS    ON    MAMMALS 

Comparative  scarcity  of  mammals — Observations  on  ilying  squirrel — 
Habits  and  instincts  of  Himalayan  monkeys — Emotional  expression 
in  the  leopard — Contentment — Fear — Anger — Distress — Eagerness — 
Attention — Affection. 

The  mammals  that  frequent  this  valley  attract  but 
little  attention,  and  I  have  few  remarks  to  make  upon 
them.  In  the  forest  their  scarcity  is  remarkable.  For 
days  we  may  wander  over  the  pine-clad  hills  yet  only 
on  rare  occasions  are  any  mammals  seen.  A  troop  of 
monkeys  in  the  trees,  a  fox  or  a  civet  sneaking 
through  the  jungle,  a  marten  disappearing  behind  a 
rock  or  a  flying  squirrel  at  dusk  gliding  from  tree 
to  tree,  are  amongst  the  few  species  we  may  hope 
to  meet.  At  intervals  the  report  is  spread  of  a  bear 
or  leopard  in  the  woods,  but  these  larger  mammals  are 
seldom  seen. 

It  is  not  in  the  thickest  jungles  but  in  the  barren 
valleys  of  the  Western  Himalaya  that  we  find  the 
largest  animals.  The  markhor  and  the  ibex  frequent 
the  main  Himalayan  axis  or  the  bieak  ranges  of  the 
Karakoram  and  the  HinduTCush  ;  the  great  sheep 
of  Marco  Polo  is  confined  to  the  treeless  plateau  of 
the  Pamir.  So  it  is  when  we  look  more  widely  over 
the  globe.  I  have  never  seen  the  larger  mammals 
collected  in  such  multitudes  as  on  the  grassy  lands 
of  East  Africa.     At  one  time  I  saw  hartbec  st,  wildc- 

239 


240       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

beest,  zebras,  gazelles,  ostriches,  antelopes  and  giraffes 
all  spread  over  an  almost  treeless  plain.  The  whole 
landscape  was  literally  covered  with  herds  of  these 
macrnificent  creatures.  Yet  here,  in  all  this  luxuriance 
of  Himalayan  vegetation,  we  see  scarcely  a  single 
mammal.  How  true  is  the  remark  of  Darwin  that 
"  among  the  mammalia  there  exists  no  close  relation 
between  the  bulk  of  the  species  and  the  quantity  of 
the  vegetation  in  the  countries  which  they  inhabit." 

I  will  mention  a  few  observations  on  some  of  the 
more  common  species.  For  many  months  I  kept 
in  my  possession  a  Himalayan  flying  squirrel,  Petatt- 
rista  inornatits,  and  never  have  I  seen  a  tamer  or 
a  more  engaging  pet.  It  showed  not  the  slightest 
fear  of  man,  but  took  an  unbounded  pleasure  in 
scrambling  over  his  body  and  playing  with  his 
hands  and  face.  It  looked  on  man  as  a  playmate 
rather  than  as  a  foe.  The  contrast  between  the 
tameness  and  wildness  of  undomesticated  animals 
when  brought  into  a  state  of  captivity  is  a  very  curious 
subject  and  one  difficult  of  explanation.  The  cele- 
brated Sir  J.  Sebright  states  that  the  wild  rabbit  and 
the  wild  duck  are  the  most  untameable  creatures  he 
knows.  So  powerful  is  their  instinctive  sense  of 
wildness  that,  even  when  taken  from  the  nest,  they 
defy  all  attempts  to  make  them  gentle  and  familiar. 
How  different  is  the  flying  squirrel  which,  when 
captured  in  the  adult  state,  soon  becomes  intimate  and 
tame.  Few  creatures  are  more  persecuted  by  man 
than  the  wild  duck  and  the  wild  rabbit,  few  so  seldom 
as  these  flying  squirrels.  I  suspect  that,  in  the  case 
of  the  duck  and  rabbit,  persecution  by  man  has 
generated  a  sense  of  wildness  from  the  fear  of  man, 


The  Flying-Squirrel  [Petaurista  inornata). 


[Face  p.  241.] 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   MAMMALS        241 

and  that  this  sense  has  become  so  fixed  an  instinct  as 
to  be  transmitted  to  the  offspring  and  to  have  de- 
veloped in  them  the  same  instinctive  fear  though  they 
themselves  have  endured  no  persecution.  If  any  man 
could  persist  in  the  domestication  of  duc'.s  or  rabbits 
commencing  from  the  wild  stock,  I  have  no  doubt 
that  he  would  eventually  rear  offspring  as  tame  as  the 
rabbits  of  the  rabbit-hutch  or  the  ducks  of  the  poultry- 
yard. 

The  tail  of  the  flying  squirrel  is  worth  attention. 
It  is  long,  thick  and  bushy.  Its  functions  are  two  in 
number ;  the  one  is  its  use  as  a  warm  covering  to 
surround  the  head  and  body  during  sleep,  the  other 
is  its  employment  as  an  agent  to  secure  the  animal's 
balance  in  the  trees. 

I  used  to  amuse  myself  by  placing  the  squirrel  on  a 
smooth  bar  to  see  how  the  tail  was  exerted  to  maintain 
the  creature's  balance.  The  squirrel  sits  clutching  the 
bar.  Its  claws  cannot  penetrate  the  surface,  so  that 
it  must  use  all  its  powers  of  balance  to  keep  its 
equilibrium.  The  tail  hangs  vertically  down  behind  ; 
it  is  rigid,  definitely  held  in  that  position  for  a  special 
purpose.  I  draw  the  animal's  head  forward  and  up 
goes  the  tail  to  increase  the  counterpoise  behind. 
I  pull  the  hind  quarters  backward  and  the  tail  is  swept 
forward  beneath  the  bar  and  equilibrium  is  restored. 
I  push  the  squirrel  to  the  left  and  the  tail  is  inclined 
to  the  right ;  I  push  it  to  the  right  and  the  tail  turns 
to  the  left.  Any  movement  of  the  animal  in  one 
direction  is  met  with  a  counterbalance  of  the  tail  in 
the  opposite  direction,  and  a  uniform  equilibrium  is 
thus  attained. 

This   function   of  the   tail    is    illustrated    in    another 

R 


242       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

method.  I  place  the  organ  out  of  action  by  fixing  the 
tip  of  the  tail  to  the  back  of  the  squirrel's  neck.  I 
again  place  it  on  the  smooth  bar.  It  makes  vain 
attempts  to  keep  its  balance  ;  the  tail  struggles  with 
its  bonds  in  the  endeavour  to  break  free,  and  the 
squirrel  may  end  by  tumbling  completely  over,  clinging 
with  flexed  claws  to  the  under  surface  of  the  bar. 
Thus  the  main  function  of  the  tail  is  as  an  organ  of 
equilibrium.  It  is  a  pliant  wand  gradually  developed 
to  its  present  length  to  enable  its  owner  to  keep  its 
balance  while  it  leaps  and  clambers  through  the  trees. 

On  occasions  the  flying  squirrel  completely  inverts 
the  normal  position  of  its  body  and  hangs  back  down- 
wards from  the  under  surface  of  a  branch.  The 
tail,  under  such  conditions,  becomes  curled  round  the 
branch  from  which  the  animal  is  suspended,  and  its 
position  cannot  but  suggest  to  the  mind  that  it  actually 
is  employed  as  an  organ  of  support.  Indeed  it 
would  only  require  a  slight  increase  in  the  muscular 
tension  in  order  to  become  so.  Now  in  this  striking 
attitude  we  may  possibly  detect  one  of  the  evolutionary 
gradations  in  the  development  of  the  prehensile  tail, 
a  trace  of  a  gradual  passage  from  an  organ  of 
equilibrium  to  an  organ  of  prehension,  from  an  organ 
which  in  the  flying  squirrel  maintains  a  balance  in 
the  tree  to  one  which,  as  in  the  American  monkeys, 
actually  grasps  the  branch  in  order  to  sustain  the 
body. 

When  the  flying  squirrel  glides  through  the  air 
its  tail  is  held  rigid  and  trailed  out  behind.  It  has 
been  considered  on  these  occasions  to  act  as  a  kind 
of  a  rudder  by  which  the  animal  can  guide  its  move- 
ments  and    actually    change    direction    when    in    the 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   MAMMALS        243 

air.     This  can    scarcely    be    the  case.      I   have  never 
seen  the  ghding   motion    take  place  in   any  direction 
but  that  of  a  straight  line  except  in  the  sudden  elevation 
at  the   termination    of  the    "flight."     Moreover,  it  is 
improbable    that    Nature    would    have    provided    the 
animal  with  a  steering  gear  in  the  form  of  a  cylindrical 
bushy  tail.      I    think  rather  that    it  acts  as  an  organ 
of  balance,   for  of  what  value  could  the   similar  long 
bushy    tail    be    to    steer    the   common   squirrel   which 
never  "flies".'*     Just  as  the  tail  of  a  bird  cannot  act 
as  a  rudder  because  it  is  compressed    in    the    wrong 
direction,    so   also   it   is   unlikely   that  the   tail   of  the 
flying  squirrel    will    possess  a  steering    function  as  it 
is  not    compressed    at    all.      I    have   mentioned    that, 
when    the    animal    is    seated    on  a  bar,  an  excess   of 
weight  in  the  anterior  portion  of  the  body  is  counter- 
balanced by  an   elevation  of  the  tail  which   increases 
the  leverage  of  the  posterior  portion  of  the  body.     A 
somewhat  similar  mechanism   takes  place  in  the   air. 
The  squirrel  when  gliding  is  in  an  oblique  position  ; 
the    anterior    portion    of    its    body    is    depressed.      It 
will    therefore    tend    to    topple    over   forwards    unless 
it    has    a    sufficient    counterpoise    behind.     To    give 
it  this  counterpoise  the  tail  is  held  rigid  and  trailed  ; 
it  acts  as  an  organ  of  balance  to  maintain  a  steady 
flight. 

The  mammal  most  commonly  seen  about  the 
woods  was  the  Bengal  monkey,  Simia  rhesus.  It 
is  the  same  species  that  inhabits  the  plains,  but  at 
these  altitudes  it  has  developed  into  a  more  robust 
animal  and  has  put  on  a  thicker  and  warmer  coat. 
This  monkey  is  of  a  plain  brown  colour  with  a  rusty 
tinge   about    the   louer   portion     of  its   back.      A   red 


244       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

face  and  a  pair  of  red  callosities  behind  are  the  only 
bright  marks  upon  its  body.      It  stands  about  two  feet 
in  height,   and    its  tail  is  about   half  that  length.      It 
congregates   in  troops,  thirty  or  more  of  both  sexes 
and   of  all    ages    living   together   in    the   same  pack. 
They    haunt    the    forest,    where    they    climb    heavily 
amongst  the  trees,  descend  to  the  grassy  glades,  or 
pillage  the  cultivated  tracts  about  the  villages.     They 
pass   the  day    incessantly   scratching  and   picking  at 
one    another,    turning   up    the    stones    and    leaves    in 
search  of  seeds,  joining  in  noisy  squabbles,  or  exploring 
one    another's    fur    in    the    quest   of   imaginary   fleas. 
The  adults  are  the  more   sedate  ;  they  often  stretch 
themselves  in  the  sun  while  the  little  ones  toss  about 
the  o^round  or  grambol  amoncrst  the  conifers  and  oaks. 
They  are  quarrelsome  and   pugnacious,  are  everlast- 
ingly hissing,    biting    and    cuffing  at    one  another  so 
that  the  whole  family  seems  as  though  it  had  some 
interminable  dispute.      It  is  an  insolent  and  intrusive 
creature.      It  plunders  fields,  enters  human  habitations 
and  even  presses    down  into  the    crowded  bazars  of 
Simla.      It   sets    up    a   show   of  audacity   towards   an 
intruder  ;  it  assumes  a  threatening  attitude,  it  growls, 
shakes  itself,  pretends  to  spring  ;  but  it  is  all  a  sham 
and  a  pretence,  it  makes  off  before  a  real  danger.     At 
night  they  roost  upon  the  trees,  but  by  day  they  seem 
to  feel  more  secure  upon  the  ground,  and  when  alarmed 
they    will    often    come    leaping    to    earth    as    though 
they  feared  to  be  isolated  amidst  the  foliage.     It  is 
an  intelligent  and  crafty  creature.      It  is  the  monkey 
that    is    commonly    carried    by    showmen    throughout 
India.      It  is  also    clever  in  its  native  haunts,  and  I 
knew  of  an  instance    where  a  whole  troop  of  these 


The  Bengal  Monkey   {Siniia  rhesus). 

Emotional   expression   in    the   Leopard.         (i)     Contentment. 

[Face  p.  245.] 


I 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   MAMMALS        245 

monkeys  used  regularly  to  utilize  a  long  pendant 
branch  as  though  it  were  a  rope  to  swing  themselves 
across  a  wide  canal.  Their  food  seems  to  be  ex- 
clusively of  a  vegetable  nature.  They  are  continually 
munching  the  young  shoots,  leaves,  buds  and  flowers 
of  the  trees,  pulling  at  the  roots,  turning  up  the  stones 
for  seeds,  or  robbing  the  grain  from  the  husbandman's 
field.  The  sexes  come  together  in  September,  but 
there  is  no  disintegration  of  the  herd ;  in  March 
the  young  are  born,  a  single  offspring  at  each  birth. 
At  first  the  young  is  carried  in  the  mother's  arms  ; 
later  it  clings  into  her  hairy  coat,  and  either  hangs 
suspended  from  her  belly  or  rides  astride  upon  her 
back.  They  have  different  notes  and  intonations  in 
accordance  with  the  emotions  and  excitements  of 
the  time.  The  usual  cry  is  a  plaintive  wailing  note. 
It  is  answered  by  the  other  members  of  the  herd  ; 
it  is  the  note  of  alarm  that  spreads  the  news  whenever 
danger  is  near.  The  sound  of  a  quarrel  is  placed 
in  a  higher  pitch.  A  shrill  vibrating  hiss  is  the 
voice  of  anger  and  fight,  while  a  hoarse  growl  is 
the  note  of  defiance  towards  an  intruder.  The 
largest  males  are  powerful  beasts.  They  are  heavy 
and  massive,  with  stout  muscular  arms,  bright  red 
faces  and  thick  hairy  coats.  They  often  le£id  and 
direct  the  movements  of  the  herd.  They  permit  of 
no  interference.  They  exert  authority,  maintain 
discipline,  intervene  in  quarrels,  chastise  offenders, 
settle  family  disputes.  The  herd  is  obedient  to  their 
rule,  and  strife  for  a  time  fades  away  beneath  their 
sway. 

I   observed  a  few    interesting  facts  connected  with 
their  instincts.     I   once  had  a  female  of  this  species 


246       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

which  had  no  offspring  of  her  own.  One  day  she 
happened  to  find  a  pair  of  young  kittens  only  a  few 
days  old.  She  immediately  took  this  unnatural 
offspring  under  her  charge ;  she  nursed  them  with 
the  greatest  care  and  would  allow  no  one  to  take 
them  from  her.  It  illustrated  how  easily  the  maternal 
instinct  becomes  vitiated  when  it  cannot  fulfil  its 
normal  course.  Another  incident  seemed  to  show 
how  quickly  an  instinct  acquired  by  the  parents  may 
become  innate  in  the  young.  These  monkeys  dread 
the  sight  of  a  gun.  They  have  learnt  to  know  its 
power,  and  are  terrified  if  they  see  a  weapon  pointed 
at  them.  But  a  very  young  monkey  was  on  one 
occasion  chained  in  my  garden.  It  could  never 
have  seen  a  gun,  and  certainly  could  scarcely  have 
learnt  what  the  power  of  a  firearm  meant.  Yet 
the  very  first  time  that  I  raised  a  gun  towards  this 
little  animal  it  burst  into  the  greatest  frenzy  and 
alarm  and  commenced  to  hiss  and  leap  upon  its 
chain.  It  showed  little  fear  of  a  stick  even  thouoh 
threatened  with  a  beating,  yet  if  the  stick  was  directed 
towards  it  in  the  attitude  of  a  gun  then  all  its  passions 
were  again  aroused.  Are  we  to  conclude  that  this 
little  creature  was  born  with  the  dread  of  a  gun  as  one 
of  the  innate  instincts  of  its  nature?  It  had  no  ex- 
perience of  firearms  in  its  own  short  life,  and  unless 
it  was  taught  these  dangers  at  a  very  tender  age  by 
some  of  the  older  members  of  the  herd,  it  must  have 
inherited  from  its  parents  that  instinctive  dread  which 
they  had  learnt  by  experience  throughout  the  preceding 
generations. 

When  herds  of  these  monkeys  are  observed  from 
below  feeding  on  a  mountain  side,  it  is  not  unusual  to 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   MAMMALS        217 

sec  stones  come  hurtling  down  the  cliff  as  though  they 
were  missiles  thrown  at  the  intruder.  For  a  long  time 
I  doubted  the  statement  of  the  hillmen  that  the 
monkeys  actually  did  employ  stones  as  weapons  to 
drive  away  an  enemy  ;  I  thought  that  the  stones  must 
be  simply  dislodged  by  chance.  But  I  have  no  doubt 
that  the  hillmen  were  correct.  For  at  last  I  saw  one 
of  these  monkeys  deliberately  tilt  up  a  large  stone 
and  roll  it  towards  me  down  the  slope.  This  I  take 
to  be  the  most  rudimentary  manifestation  of  the  more 
elaborate  instinct  that  employs  weapons  as  a  mode  of 
protection  or  offence.  It  is  the  first  trace  of  that  higher 
judgment  possessed  by  other  monkeys  of  selecting 
stones  of  suitable  size  and  shape  to  use  as  weapons 
against  their  foes,  or  of  the  skill  with  which  the  female 
orangutan  breaks  off  branches  and  spiny  fruits  from  the 
trees  to  hurl  them  to  the  ground  in  a  shower  of 
missiles. 

The  only  other  monkey  that  I  observed  in  the  dis- 
trict was  the  langur,  Presbytis  schistaceus.  I  saw 
very  little  of  it.  It  keeps  to  higher  altitudes  than  the 
Bengal  monkey,  usually  remaining  above  6000  feet, 
and  I  have  seen  it  near  the  tree  limit  at  11,000  feet 
traversing  the  fields  of  snow.  It  is  a  handsome 
animal  of  a  slate  colour  above,  yellowish  beneath, 
and  carries  a  long,  slightly  tufted  tail.  Its  black  face 
is  very  conspicuous,  since  it  is  encircled  in  a  white 
fringe.  It  stands  two  and  a  half  feet  in  height,  while 
its  tail  is  about  three  feet  in  length.  The  langur 
seems  more  arboreal  than  the  Simla.  Large  troops 
composed  of  both  adults  and  young  leap  about  the 
trees  and  make  a  great  noise  as  they  crash  heavily 
through    the    forest.      It  feeds  on  grain,   fruit,  leaves 


248       A  NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

and  buds.  It  loves  die  neclar  of  flowers,  especially 
that  of  the  rhododendron.  Indeed,  it  is  a  strange 
contrast  to  see  the  black  face  of  the  langur  with  its 
white  encirclino;  fring-e  holding:  in  its  mouth  a  bunch  of 
crimson  rhododendron.  It  appears  to  be  less  quarrel- 
some than  the  Simia,  though  in  winter,  when  the 
langur  is  driven  down  to  lower  altitudes,  pitched 
battles  are  said  to  occur  between  the  two  species. 

The  leopard,  Felis pardus,  was  distinctly  uncommon 
in  the  district.  I  once  kept  a  cub  of  this  species, 
which  was  captured  on  the  hillside,  and  took  some 
little  trouble  in  noting-  the  chanores  in  its  actions  and 
expressions  under  the  influence  of  different  emotions. 
I  will  attempt  to  indicate  these  various  changes, 
which  may  seem  more  evident  with  the  help  of  the 
illustrations.^ 

(i)  Contentment 

In  the  contented  and  restful  state  when,  after  a 
satisfying  meal,  the  animal  lies  partly  curled  upon 
the  ground  and  the  body  and  mind  are  calm  and 
quiet,  or  when  the  mental  faculties  are  in  complete 
abeyance  during  sleep,  there  is  no  rigidity  of  the 
trunk  or  limbs,  no  twitching  of  muscles  or  changes 
in  facial  expression  ;  the  whole  animal  is  limp  and 
sup[)le,  its  voluntary  musculature  is  in  a  condition  of 
physiological   rest  in  complete    unison   with  the  calm 

^  My  observations  on  the  emotional  expression  of  the  leopard  and  my 
notes  on  the  flying-squirrel  have  previously  appeared  in  the  Journal  of 
the  Bombay  Natural  History  Society.  My  photographs  of  these  two 
animals  and  also  that  of  the  Indian  robin  and  the  nest  of  the  paradise 
fly-catcher  have  likewise  been  published  in  the  same  journal.  I  am 
indebted  to  the  Honorary  Secretary  of  th^t  society  for  his  kind  permission 
to  reproduce  them  here. 


I 


M 


y  M 


^  ,* 


EMOTIONAL    EXPRESSION     IN    THE    LEOPARD. 

2     (upper)  Fear,     3.   (lower)  Anger, 


[Face  p.  24S.] 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   MAMMALS        249 

and  inactivity  of  its  mind.  Occasionally,  while  coiled 
in  this  contented  state,  the  sight  of  some  passing 
object  may  excite  the  interest  of  the  animal.  It  raises 
its  head,  opens  wide  its  eyes  and  looks  steadfastly 
towards  the  object  producing  this  mild  excitement ; 
the  lower  jaw  drops  and  the  mouth  opens  but  not  in 
anger  ;  the  whole  countenance  alters  and  the  blank 
expressionless  facies  which  characterized  the  animal 
in  its  state  of  pure  contentment  is  changed  instantane- 
ously to  one  of  interested  intelligence. 

(2)  Fear 

Fear  in  a  wild  animal  must  be  frequently  associated 
with  anger,  and  perhaps  preceded  occasionally  by 
astonishment,  though  the  latter  would  be  difficult,  if 
not  impossible,  to  detect.  It  does  seem  possible, 
however,  to  obtain  the  expression  of  fear  distinct 
from  that  of  anger,  if  the  object  causing  the  fear  is  so 
powerful  as  to  overawe  the  animal  to  such  a  degree 
as  to  prevent  it  from  displaying  its  anger. 

A  leopard,  when  enduring  the  emotion  of  fear  pro- 
duced in  this  manner,  acts  in  a  very  distinctive  way. 
It  lowers  its  body  into  a  crouching  postiire  and  throws 
its  ears  well  back.  These  movements  have  an  object. 
They  tend  to  lessen  the  apparent  bulk  of  the  animal  ; 
and  as  many  of  the  lower  creatures  in  such  conditions 
of  danger,  as  would  create  the  sensation  of  fear  in  the 
higher  ones,  do  diminish  markedly  the  volume  of 
their  bodies  and  by  such  diminution  obtain  definite 
protection,  it  is  probable  that  these  movements  are 
instinctive  tendencies  inherited  throuohout  a  lonij 
ancestry,  but  which  now  display  little,  if  any,  service- 
able manifestation. 


250       A  NATURALIST   IN   IIII\IALAYA 

The  head  during  fear  is  often  turned  in  the  opposite 
direction  to  that  from  which  the  danger  is  expected  to 
arrive.  The  eyes  are  partially  closed,  and  tighdy  so 
if  the  fear  amounts  to  terror.  The  nostrils  are  pinched 
so  as  to  give  the  face  a  characteristic  expression. 
These  acts  also  have  a  purpose.  It  is  a  natural  instinct 
in  the  higher  animals  to  turn  away  the  face  if  any 
special  injury  is  directed  towards  it,  and  to  close  the 
eyes  cither  partially  or  completely  and  contract  the 
nasal  orifices  in  order  to  give  protection  to  the  delicate 
organs  contained  within,  and  in  the  leopard  this 
instinct  seems  to  be  so  highly  developed  and  so  easily 
called  into  action  as  to  occur  in  general  states  of  fear, 
even  when  the  danger  is  not  specially  directed  to  the 
sensitive  organs  of  sight  and  smell.  The  limbs  and 
tail  are  held  stiff  and  the  body  loses  its  great  muscular 
laxity.  The  corners  of  the  mouth  are  raised,  the 
upper  jaw  elevated,  the  lower  jaw  depressed,  the 
mouth  is  partially  opened  and  the  canine  teeth  dis- 
played. The  general  facial  expression  is  one  of 
fierceness,  and  when  a  wild  carnivorous  animal  is  in 
fear  or  terror  it  must  undoubtedly  be  fierce. 

The  domestic  cat  when  terrified  has  been  described 
as  arching  its  back  and  erecting  the  hair  over  the 
whole  body,  especially  on  the  tail,  and  as  raising  the 
basal  portion  of  the  tail  upright  and  bending  the  ter- 
minal extremity  to  one  side.  I  have  never  noticed 
this  attitude  in  the  leopard,  nor  by  experiment  have  I 
been  able  to  obtain  anything  resembling  it ;  and  it  is 
possible  that,  owing  to  the  great  strength  of  the 
animal,  it  would  not,  in  its  native  haunts,  experience 
fear  to  any  great  extent,  and  would  therefore  not  have 
the  emotion  so  highly  developed  and  exhibited  in  a 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   MAMMALS        251 

manner  exactly  similar  to  that  seen  in  the  weaker  and 
domesticated  creatures  of  its  kind. 

(3)  Anger,  Rage 

Anger  and  rage,  so  frequently  associated  with  fear, 
are  expressed  in  a  very  similar  manner.  The  body 
again  crouches  and,  if  the  animal  is  savage,  may  be 
lowered  completely  to  the  ground.  The  trunk  and 
limbs  are  rigid,  the  claws  thrust  out  and  the  tail  usually 
stiff,  though  it  may  be  curled  from  side  to  side.  These 
actions  have  a  purpose  ;  they  are  the  characteristics  of 
an  animal  about  to  struggle  for  its  prey.  The  crouch- 
ing and  rigidity  maintain  every  muscle  tense  and  ready 
instantaneously  for  the  spring.  The  claws  are  projected 
for  the  fatal  blow.  Possibly  no  cause  excites  the  anger 
of  a  carnivorous  animal  so  intensely  and  so  frequently 
as  the  prospect  of  a  coming  battle,  and  consequently 
those  characteristics,  which  are  of  direct  service  to 
an  enraged  animal  about  to  fight,  have  become  so 
engrained  into  its  nature  as  to  be  instinctively  associated 
with  its  anger  under  all  conditions,  even  when  there  is 
no  suggestion  of  a  fight.  The  rigidity  of  the  tail  is 
due  to  the  muscles  of  that  organ  acting  in  harmonious 
contraction  with  those  of  the  rest  of  the  body,  and 
the  occasional  curling  motion  may  be  an  involuntary 
liberation  of  that  great  excess  of  muscular  energy 
which  must  be  effervescing  through  its  bodily  system. 

The  angles  of  the  mouth  are  elevated,  the  nostrils 
drawn  together,  but  the  whole  face  appears  less  con- 
tracted and  pinched  than  when  the  animal  is  expressing 
true  fear.  The  canine  teeth  are  displayed  in  an  open 
mouth  and,  when  the  anger  amounts  to  rage,  the  whole 
row  of  teeth  becomes  clearly  seen.    The  face  is  directed 


252       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

towards  the  object  which  excites  the  anger,  and  the 
animal  hisses  or  emits  a  deep  guttural  snarl.  These 
marked  changes  of  facial  expression  and  utterance  of 
sound  also  serve  their  purpose ;  they  give  to  the 
animal  a  fierce  and  savage  appearance,  and  are  there- 
fore of  service  to  it  by  causing  it  to  strike  terror  into 
the  mind  of  the  creature  against  which  its  anger  is 
directed.  I  have  never  seen  the  hair  erected  durin<r 
a  state  of  rage,  nor  could  I  be  certain  that  distinct 
hair  movements  ever  occurred  or  were  definitely 
associated  with  any  emotion. 

When  the  animal  is  enduring  displeasure,  but  not 
amounting  to  anger,  the  above  expressions  are  made 
manifest  to  a  slight  degree ;  but  when  the  anger 
amounts  to  rage  or  savagery  they  are  pronounced  in 
a  more  exaggerated  manner. 

Although  on  analysis  the  emotions  of  fear  and  anger 
seem  to  be  very  similarly  expressed,  yet  a  comparison 
of  the  illustrations  immediately  shows  that  in  the 
former  the  animal  appears  cowed  into  submission  and 
ready  to  retreat  rather  than  advance  towards  its  enemy, 
while  in  the  latter  he  appears  to  be  full  of  anger  and 
spoiling  for  the  fight. 

(4)  Distress 

Pain,  though  a  most  powerful  sensation,  can  scarcely 
be  considered  an  emotion.  Its  presence,  however, 
gives  rise  to  forcible  emotionary  outbursts  so  tangibly 
associated  with  those  of  fear  and  rage  as  to  be  incapable 
of  separate  recognition.  An  animal  in  pain  must  be 
in  distress,  and  this  certainly  is  an  emotion.  It  must 
also  be  terrified  or  enraged,  and  it  is  therefore  not 
possible  to  describe  any  series  of  characteristics  solely 


EMOTIONAL    EXPRESSION    IN    THE    LEOPARD 

4.  (upper)  Distress.  5.  (lower)  Eagerness. 


[Face  p.  252.] 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   MAMMALS        253 

distinctive  of  a  pained  or  distressed  animal.  A  leopard 
in  pain  resembles  almost  identically  a  leopard  in  a 
state  of  anger,  but  the  face  displays  a  distressful 
appearance,  and  it  is  difficult  to  determine  what  in- 
dividual muscles  are  brought  into  play  in  the  production 
of  it.  The  mouth  is  sometimes  widely  opened,  and  the 
body  may  conform  to  almost  any  attitude. 

(5)  Eagerness 

When  the  leopard  feels  intensely  eager,  as  when  it 
is  stealthily  creeping  towards  its  prey  or  crouching 
low  with  the  intention  of  springing  on  it,  the  atti- 
tude and  expression  again  become  characteristic.  It 
crouches  down  so  as  to  lower  its  body  completely 
to  the  ground.  The  hind  limbs  are  flexed  beneath 
the  trunk  ready  to  be  instantaneously  extended  when 
the  animal  springs.  The  fore  limbs  are  stretched 
forwards,  and  the  head,  which  is  lowered  on  to  them, 
is  so  fixed  that  the  jaws  rest  on  the  dorsal  surface  of 
the  feet,  and  the  chin  is  firmly  pressed  on  the  ground 
between  them.  The  object  of  these  movements  is 
clear  when  it  is  remembered  that  in  the  wild  state 
eagerness  is  excited  by  the  presence  of  the  animal's 
prey.  By  the  depression  of  the  head  and  the  shrink- 
ing of  the  body  the  apparent  bulk  of  the  animal  is 
diminished  and  this  gives  him  a  greater  opportunity  of 
reaching  his  prey.  The  tail  is  curled,  the  ears  are 
tilted  forwards  and  the  aural  aperture  enlarged  to 
catch  the  slightest  sound.  The  eyes  are  fixed  and 
staring  to  note  the  gentlest  movement.  The  mouth  is 
tightly  shut  so  that  the  teeth  are  completely  covered. 
There  is  no  twitching  of  the  muscles  or  alterations  in 
the  countenance.     The  hair  is  occasionally  erected  but 


254       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

not  often.  No  vocal  sounds  are  emitted.  The  nostrils 
are  slightly  dilated  and  the  whole  body  is  absolutely 
motionless  and  in  a  state  of  rigid  muscular  tension, 
while  the  face  expresses  that  earnest  determination 
which  at  times  must  be  so  necessary  for  the  successful 
accomplishment  of  the  animal's  desires. 

Intense  eagerness  is  also  expressed  when  the  animal 
is  in  motion,  as  when  it  is  endeavouring  to  discover 
the  whereabouts  of  its  food  or  is  creeping  with  stealth 
towards  another  animal.  The  general  attitude  is  pre- 
cisely similar  to  that  of  an  animal  about  to  spring,  but 
the  head  and  body  are  lowered  less  completely  to  the 
ground,  and  the  animal  moves  forward  with  extreme 
quietness.  When  the  sense  of  smell  is  brought  into 
action  in  association  with  this  movement,  the  nostrils 
are  dilated,  the  nose  depressed  to  the  ground,  and  the 
animal  sniffs  with  vigour  as  it  moves  silently  and 
rapidly  from  place  to  place. 

(6)  Attention 

When  the  leopard  distinguishes  in  the  distance  an 
object  the  nature  of  which  it  does  not  clearly  recognize, 
or  hears  a  sound  which  it  does  not  understand,  the 
attitude  which  I  have  desionated  as  "attention"  is 
immediately  assumed. 

In  the  attitude  of  attention  the  trunk  is  raised  so 
that  the  body  is  supported  sometimes  on  the  two  front 
limbs  and  sometimes  on  all  four.  By  this  movement 
the  animal's  range  of  vision  is  greatly  increased.  The 
ears  are  directed  forwards  and  the  eyes  widely  opened. 
The  mouth  may  be  partially  open  or  closed.  The 
head  is  usually  craned  a  little  forward  and  occasionally 
moved  from  side  to  side  as  though  it  was  endeavouring 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   MAMMALS        255 

to  obtain  a  further  explanation  as  to  the  cause  of  the 
excitement.  There  is  no  puckering  of  the  features, 
no  tightening  of  the  angle  of  the  mouth  or  exposure  of 
the  teeth.  The  hair  over  the  shoulders  may  be  slightly 
ruffled,  but  not  markedly  erected.  The  intent  ex- 
pression of  countenance,  produced  mainly  by  the  fixed 
and  staring  expression  of  the  eyes,  can  scarcely  be 
mistaken. 

(7)  Affection 

The  emotions  of  affection  and  love  are  diametrically 
opposed  to  those  of  anger  and  hatred,  and  are  associated 
with  external  expressions  equally  distinct  in  their 
antithesis. 

When  the  leopard  is  affectionate,  the  body  is  always 
limp  and  supple  and  the  face  calm  and  placid.  There 
is  no  pricking  of  the  ears  or  pinching  of  the  nostrils. 
The  teeth  may  be  exposed  by  a  uniform  opening  of 
the  whole  mouth,  but  never  by  a  raising  of  its  angle 
or  by  a  wrinkling  of  the  upper  lip  or  associated  with 
any  muscular  tension  which  might  suggest  a  snarl. 
The  eyes  are  dilated  and  express  docility.  The  claws 
are  sheathed.  In  this  happy  temperament  the  leopard 
resembles  the  domestic  cat  in  its  desire  to  lick  or  rub 
its  head  and  trunk  against  the  object  towards  which  it 
is  displaying  its  affection,  and  to  pat  or  pound  it  gently 
with  the  soft  pads  of  its  extended  feet.  This  latter 
peculiar  habit  is  most  probably  in  origin  the  same  as 
that  pounding  which  young  kittens  may  be  seen  to 
perform  on  the  teats  of  their  mother  when  they  are 
suckling,  and  at  that  time  they  are  no  doubt  affectionate. 
I  have  observed  a  bull  terrier  puppy  continue  to  pound 
the  ground  in  a  similar  manner  while  it  was  suckling. 


256       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

When  wc  contrast  the  expression  of  the  emotions  of 
affection  and  anger  it  is  clearly  evident  that  they  are 
in  direct  opposition  to  each  other.  Compare  the 
supple  trunk,  the  elevated  ears,  the  dilated  eyes,  the 
sheathed  claws  and  the  happy  countenance  of  affection 
with  the  rigid  body,  the  depressed  ears,  the  half-closed 
eyes,  the  projecting  claws  and  the  fierce  and  pinched 
expression  of  anger.  All  these  characteristics  associated 
with  anger  are,  to  a  greater  or  less  extent,  of  some 
service  to  the  animal  if  it  be  considered  that  its  anger 
is  directed  towards  some  other  animal  which  it  is  about 
to  attack  ;  and  in  its  native  haunts  there  can  be  no 
other  cause  which  so  frequently  and  acutely  excites  its 
anger.  But  on  the  other  hand  it  does  not  seem  possible 
to  detect  any  serviceable  asset  in  the  opposed  expres- 
sions associated  with  affection.  They  can  only  be 
explained  on  the  Principle  of  Antithesis  as  advanced 
by  Darwin,  which  states  that  any  action  or  series  of 
actions  which  have  for  long  periods  of  time  been 
directly  associated  with  any  sensation  or  emotion  will 
be  immediately  suppressed  under  emotions  of  a  directly 
opposing  nature,  and  that  an  antagonistic  set  of  muscles 
will  be  brought  into  play  so  as  to  produce  an  opposite 
action  or  series  of  actions,  though  they  may  be  of  no 
use. 

During  play  the  animal  may  assume  almost  any 
posture.  It  may  roll  on  its  back  on  the  ground  and 
wave  its  paws  in  the  air  and  with  sheathed  claws 
endeavour  to  grasp  the  object  with  which  it  is  playing. 
It  may  spring  towards  its  playmate  and  leap  upon 
him.  It  may  seize  him  between  its  teeth,  but  will 
never  injure  him  or  express  in  its  attitude  or  coun- 
tenance  any  desire   to  do   so.      In    its    play    it    often 


EMOTIONAL    EXPRESSION    IN    THE    LEOPARD. 

6.  (upper)  Attention,  7.  (lower)  Affection. 


[Face  p.  256.) 


OBSERVATIONS   ON   MAMMALS        257 

simulates  the  sterner  acts  of  life.  It  loves  to  mimic 
the  movements  of  an  animal  about  to  dart  upon  its 
prey.  It  crouches  low,  it  hides  itself  in  every  de- 
pression in  the  ground,  it  advances  with  a  slow  and 
stealthy  gait ;  then  comes  the  flashing  eye,  the  sudden 
rush,  the  final  spring,  the  roll  and  tumble  with  its 
playmate,  and  the  round  of  the  game  is  over.  It  is  all 
but  simple  fun  and  frolic,  the  exuberant  play  of  youth. 
Yet  in  it  we  see  a  mirror  of  its  future  life  and  a 
reflection  of  the  countless  cruelties  and  battles  in  the 
past  history  of  its  race. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

ORNITHOLOGICAL    OBSERVATIONS 

General  migration  of  birds — Distribution  and  habits  of  bulbuls— Plasticity 
of  instinct — Paradise  flycatchers — The  black  drongo— Habits  of  the 
purple  sunbird — Nesting  instinct  of  the  whistling-thrush,  the  barbet, 
and  the  Kashmir  martin — Troops  of  insectivorous  birds — Tumbling 
of  birds — Soaring  flight  of  birds. 

I  PASS  now  to  some  ornithological  observations.  The 
migrating  season  greatly  enriched  the  bird  life  of  the 
valley.  Early  in  September  the  stream  of  migrant 
birds  flows  down  the  mountain  flanks,  along  the  valleys 
and  southward  over  the  Peninsula  of  India.  Flocks 
of  wagtails,  pied  and  grey,  collect  in  every  stream  ; 
drongos  congregate  in  the  green  trees  ;  quail  in 
thousands  infest  the  cornfields  ;  snipe  and  duck  flow 
into  the  marshes.  The  whole  bird  life  is  changing ; 
a  new  avifauna  of  winter  is  replacing  that  of  summer. 
Many  birds  with  the  paradise  flycatchers,  the  black- 
headed  mynas  and  the  magpie  robins  leave  the 
mountains  to  winter  in  the  cooler  plains.  Others  like 
the  woodcock,  jackdaw  and  whisding  thrush  descend 
from  the  higher  elevations  to  seek  the  shelter  of  the 
lower  hills.  Still  others,  like  the  snipe  and  duck,  pass 
the  summer  in  Europe  or  Northern  Asia  and  now 
sweep  across  the  Himalayan  ranges  on  their  distant 
journey  to  the  Indian  plains. 

When  bird  life  was  more  stationary  there  were  some 
attractive   species   to  be  seen   in    the  valley.     Three 

258 


ORNITHOLOGICAL   OBSERVATIONS    259 

species  of  bulbuls  were  very  common.  Of  these,  two 
belonged  to  the  genus  Mo/pasfes,  and  appeared  very 
conspicuous  from  the  bright  colours  of  the  under  tail 
coverts.  In  the  Punjab  red-vented  bulbul  these 
feathers  are  a  brilliant  scarlet  and  in  the  white-cheeked 
bulbul  a  bright  sulphur  yellow.  They  both  remained 
in  the  valley  for  the  whole  year  and  nested  there 
during  the  summer.  The  third  species,  known  as 
the  Himalayan  black  bulbul,  belonging  to  the  genus 
Hypsipetes,  has  a  forked  tail  and  is  a  sprightly  and 
active  bird  though  of  plainer  plumage.  During  the 
summer  it  deserts  the  valley  and  ascends  into  the 
cooler  forests.  The  cheerful  notes  of  the  bulbuls  are 
amongst  the  most  pleasant  sounds,  and  never  were 
they  heard  to  greater  advantage  than  when  the  birds 
were  robbing  the  fruit  trees.  They  devour  quantities 
of  seeds  and  fruits  and  are  a  pest  to  the  gardener. 

I  observed  a  striking  case  of  the  variability  of  avian 
instinct  in  the  case  of  the  red-vented  bulbul,  Molpastes 
mtcrmedius.  This  little  bird  occupied  the  whole 
district.  It  was  of  a  dull  unassuming  colour  save  for 
its  conspicuous  patch  of  red.  The  food  of  this  species 
consists  largely  of  fruit  that  it  finds  on  the  ground. 
But  in  the  securing  of  its  food  it  often  adopts  the 
methods  of  other  species  of  birds.  I  have  seen  this 
bulbul  hammering  and  chopping  hard  berries  against 
the  branch  of  a  tree  in  a  manner  resembling  that  of 
a  nuthatch.  It  hammered  with  such  force  that  the 
sound  of  the  blows  could  be  heard  fifty  feet  away. 
I  have  seen  it  climbing  skilfully  and  exploring  the 
trunks  of  the  pine  trees  as  though  it  was  a  woodpecker, 
and  often  capturing  insects  on  the  wing  with  all  the 
enthusiasm    of  a   flycatcher.      Few    instincts    can    be 


260       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

more  important  than  those  connected  with  the  pro- 
curing of  the  daily  food,  so  that  it  is  interesting  to  see 
those  instincts  so  variable  in  their  action.  I  have  at 
different  times  observed  mynas,  creepers,  sparrows, 
kites,  owls,  crows  and  gulls  all  chasing  insects  through 
the  air,  hoopoes  and  titmice  climbing  like  woodpeckers 
up  the  tree-trunks  ;  but  I  had  never  before  seen  a 
species  with  instincts  so  variable  as  to  resemble  the 
peculiar  instincts  of  three  distinct  families  of  birds. 

This  plasticity  of  instinct  in  birds  is  common.  Even 
the  ubiquitous  house  sparrow  once  provided  me  with 
an  interesting  display.  I  watched  it  first  acting  like 
a  creeper  in  clinging  to  a  tree-trunk  and  scrambling 
about  in  search  of  insects.  Then  it  would  change  its 
methods.  It  would  flutter  out  a  little  from  the  trunk, 
vibrate  rapidly  its  wings  so  as  to  frighten  the  dull- 
coloured  moths  and  other  insects  from  the  crevices 
in  the  bark.  Then  it  would  dart  on  them  like  a  fly- 
catcher as  they  flew  out  into  the  air.  In  nature  all 
instincts  vary,  and  the  closer  we  observe  the  habits  of 
animals  the  easier  it  is  to  understand  how  one  species 
might  in  time  lose  completely  its  natural  instincts  and 
adopt  those  of  another  species. 

Another  act  in  the  mode  of  feeding  of  the  bulbul 
somewhat  surprised  me.  The  birds  used  to  congregate 
in  winter  on  the  branches  of  the  Persian  lilac,  Melia 
azedarach,  to  feed  on  its  nutritious  berries.  The  birds 
usually  pick  these  berries  to  pieces  ;  sometimes,  as  I 
have  mentioned,  they  will  hammer  them  to  fragments 
like  a  nuthatch,  and,  even  at  times,  swallow  them 
whole.  Now  these  berries  are  from  one  and  a  half 
to  two  inches  in  circumference,  an  enormous  bulk  for 
these  litde  birds  to   swallow.     Yet  the  bulbuls  after 


ORNITHOLOGICAL   OBSERVATIONS     261 

strenuous  efforts  succeed  in  getting  the  whole  berry- 
down  along"  the  gullet.  The  circumference  of  the 
bulbul's  empty  gullet  is  only  half  an  inch  and  the 
circumference  of  the  whole  neck  one  and  one-eighth 
inches,  so  it  is  clear  that  this  bulbul  is  in  the  habit 
of  swallowing  objects  not  only  three  times  the  dimen- 
sions of  its  own  gullet  but  even  wider  than  its  own 
neck.  It  is,  of  course,  the  highly  distensible  nature 
of  the  soft  parts  that  permits  the  passage  of  such  large 
mouthfuls.  Anything  that  passes  the  gape  can  with 
ease  continue  down  the  gullet.  And  the  bulbuls  seem 
to  be  unable  to  judge  how  big  a  morsel  they  are  able 
to  tackle.  They  sometimes  struggle  with  berries 
which  they  are  quite  unable  to  get  down,  and  I  once 
saw  a  record  of  a  young  red-vented  bulbul  that  had 
died  in  the  attempt  to  swallow  a  mouthful  nearly  as 
big  as  itself. 

The  paradise  flycatcher,  Terpsiphone  paradisi,  was 
the  most  beautiful  of  the  summer  migrants  to  the 
southern  slopes  of  the  Himalaya.  This  bird  extends 
northward  to  Kashmir,  and  I  have  seen  it  at  an 
altitude  of  8000  feet.  The  female  is  an  inconspicuously 
coloured  bird  with  a  bluish  head  and  pale  ashy  breast. 
For  two  years  the  male  resembles  the  female  in  colora- 
tion ;  after  the  second  autumn  moult  a  partial  change 
occurs,  but  it  is  not  until  the  third  season  that  the 
male  adopts  its  characteristic  and  striking  plumage. 
The  whole  body  becomes  white,  and  the  head,  sur- 
mounted by  a  large  crest,  is  a  glistening  bluish  black  ; 
dark  streaks  appear  upon  the  back,  but  it  is  the  central 
feathers  of  the  tail  that  attract  the  most  attention. 
The  median  pair  arc  prolonged  into  beautiful,  pure 
white,  flowing  ribbons  as  much  as  a  foot  and  a  quarter 


262       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

in  length,  while  the  body  of  the  bird  is  little  more 
than  four  inches.  When  the  bird  is  in  flight  the  long 
streaming  feathers  trail  out  behind,  and,  as  it  flits 
from  tree  to  tree  in  the  dark  Himalayan  forests,  it 
seems  like  a  bright  flash  of  sunlight  gleaming  through 
the  dismal  pines. 

From  the  spodess  white  of  its  plumage  I  have  heard 
Europeans  call  it  in  error  the  dhobi-bird,  or,  from  the 
flowing  tail,  they  sometimes  speak  of  it  as  the  ribbon- 
bird,  while  its  ghosdy  appearance  has  named  it  the 
phantom-bird. 

The  nest  of  this  species  is  a  neat  cup-shaped 
structure  of  grass  and  moss.  It  is  usually  supported 
on  the  fork  of  a  tree,  but,  on  one  occasion,  I  saw  a 
nest  actually  suspended  by  its  margin  to  two  thin 
branches  which  grew  downwards  from  above.  The 
position  of  a  bird's  nest,  whether  it  be  a  supported  or 
a  suspended  structure,  is  the  result  of  a  very  definite 
instinct  and  is  highly  characteristic  of  the  different 
groups  of  birds  which  build  their  nests  according  to 
these  two  types.  I  was  therefore  interested  to  find 
a  species  that  was  able  to  adapt  itself  to  either  of 
these  methods  and  whose  nest-building  instinct  was 
so  variable  as  to  allow  it  either  to  support  its  nest  on 
the  branch  below  or  to  suspend  it  from  a  branch 
above  in  accordance  with  the  facilities  that  offered  at 
the  site  where  it  wished  to  build.  The  nest  is  very 
small  in  proportion  to  the  size  of  the  female  bird,  and, 
when  she  is  hatching,  the  tail,  rump  and  the  ends  of 
the  wings  project  out  behind. 

The  young  of  this  species,  before  leaving  the  nest, 
thoroughly  stretch  their  wings  and  practise  the  lesson 
of  wing -flapping  to  a  sufficient  extent  to  render  their 


The   Indian   Paradise   Flycatcher   [Terpsiphone  paradisi)  and   nest. 

\^Face  p.  262.] 


ORNITHOLOGICAL   OBSERVATIONS     2G3 

first  flight  free  from  danger.  The  lesson  takes  place 
at  the  edge  of  the  nest ;  here  each  nestling  in  suc- 
cession carefully  balances  its  unstable  body  and  at 
intervals  for  about  ten  minutes  stretches  out  its  wings 
and  vigorously  beats  the  air  with  them  before  launching 
out  on  its  first  short  fligrht. 

The  paradise  flycatcher  of  course  lives  on  insects 
which  it  captures  on  the  wing.  It  is  not  always  very 
dexterous  in  its  efforts,  for  I  once  observed  the  bird 
make  six  successive  and  unsuccessful  attacks  on  a 
large  butterfly  and  in  the  end  failed  in  its  efforts.  A 
more  skilful  bird  in  this  respect  is  the  black  drongo, 
Dicrurus  atcr.  It  is  a  very  common  visitor  to  the 
lower  Himalaya.  It  is  in  the  habit  of  perching  on 
prominent  branches  of  trees,  and  feeds  on  flies  and 
other  insects  which  it  captures  on  the  wing.  Its 
power  of  vision  must  be  extremely  acute,  for  I  have 
seen  it  on  a  dull  day  detect  an  insect  in  the  air  fully 
a  hundred  yards  distant  and  fly  off  from  its  place  of 
vantage  to  a  successful  capture.  I  could  myself  have 
scarcely  detected  the  insect  at  one-tenth  of  the  distance. 
Though  the  drongo  usually  captures  its  prey  by  the 
rapidity  of  its  flight  and  its  skilful  turns  in  the  air, 
yet  I  have  observed  it  on  windy  days  adopt  a  simpler 
but  no  less  efficacious  method,  for  instead  of  darting 
after  the  insect  it  merely  faced  the  wind,  hovered  in 
the  air  and  allowed  the  breeze  to  sweep  the  insect  into 
its  mouth. 

The  sharp  vision  of  the  drongo  calls  to  mind  the 
same  power  in  other  species.  The  tern,  for  example, 
when  hovering  in  the  air,  detects  the  smallest  fish  in 
the  silt-laden  river.  The  vulture,  when  distant  beyond 
human  vision,  notes  the  descent  of  its  fellows  on  the 


264       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

carrion.  The  gannet,  when  high  in  the  heavens,  spies 
its  victim  in  the  rough  ocean.  The  birds  of  prey  have 
most  remarkable  powers  of  sight.  It  is  astonishing  to 
see  how  a  lammergeyer  can  detect  a  bone  lying  upon  a 
stony  waste,  or  a  kestrel  can  single  out  a  protectively- 
coloured  locust  in  a  field  from  a  perch  perhaps  a 
hundred  yards  away.  Yet  this  is  nothing  compared 
with  the  vision  of  insectivorous  creatures  that  haunt 
the  night.  It  is  almost  incredible  to  observe  the  skill 
with  which  bats  and  nightjars  dart  upon  their  prey 
at  dusk.  Long  after  the  sun  has  set,  when  to  man's 
eyes  everything  is  wrapped  in  darkness,  these  nocturnal 
creatures  swoop  upon  the  smallest  insects  and  display 
in  the  night  a  sense  of  the  acutest  vision. 

A  pretty  summer  visitor  to  this  valley  is  the  purple 
sunbird,  Arachnectra  asiatica.  Every  morning  this 
gay  little  bird,  glistening  In  the  sun  with  varying  hues 
of  metallic  purple,  used  to  seek  the  nectar  from  the 
scarlet  bignonia  that  climbed  about  the  sides  of  my 
verandah.  As  it  flitted  from  flower  to  flower,  sucking 
up  the  sweet  honey  with  its  long  tubular  tongue,  it 
seemed  like  a  huge  insect  fertilizing  every  bloom  and 
called  to  mind  the  activities  of  the  hummlno-bird.  As 
the  sunbird  passed  from  flower  to  flower  it  never 
pushed  Its  beak  and  head  into  the  expanded  mouth 
of  the  tubular  blossom  In  order  to  reach  the  nectar 
at  the  bottom  of  the  tube,  but  It  always  plunged  Its 
beak  through  the  petals  near  their  junction  with  the 
stem,  and  thus  reached  the  nectar  by  a  shorter  route. 
I  do  not  think  there  was  any  anatomical  difficulty  to 
prevent  the  sunbird  seeking  the  nectar  In  the  more 
obvious  manner,  by  pushing  Its  head  Into  the  mouth 
of  the  blossom,  for  I  found  diat,  in  a  dead  specimen, 


ORNITHOLOGICAL   OBSERVATIONS     265 

the  tongue  could  by  this  route  easily  reach  the  nectar. 
The  difficulty  seems  to  lie  in  the  fact  that  the  sunbird 
is  unable  to  hover  in  front  of  a  flower  in  the  manner 
characteristic  of  a  humming-bird,  but  has  rather  to 
cling  to  the  flower  stems  before  it  can  seek  its  food. 
From  the  stem  of  the  bignonia  it  would  be  quite 
unable  to  reach  the  mouth  of  the  flower,  and  has 
therefore  to  penetrate  the  petals  with  its  beak.  I 
have  no  doubt  that  the  sunbird  is  an  active  agent 
in  fertilizing  certain  flowers,  but  from  its  method  of 
penetrating  the  blossoms  of  the  bignonia  it  can  play 
no  part  in  the  fertilization  of  that  plant.  The  bird, 
however,  gains  one  advantage  by  this  mode  of  feeding, 
as  it  is  able  to  remove  the  nectar  from  the  unexpanded 
blossoms  and  thus  steal  a  march  on  the  insects  which 
compete  with  it  for  the  precious  honey  but  which  can 
enter  only  the  expanded  flower. 

I  will  here  mention  a  few  observations  on  nesting 
habits  that  bear  on  the  mentality  of  birds. 

The  Himalayan  whistling-thrush,  MyiopJioneus  tem- 
7nincki,  looks  at  first  sight  like  an  English  blackbird, 
though  it  is  in  reality  more  closely  related  to  the 
laughing-thrushes  and  the  babblers.  It  haunts  the 
moist  glens,  gorges  and  ravines,  and  is  always  to  be 
seen  about  the  torrential  mountain  streams.  It  often 
displays  a  remarkable  foresight  in  selecting  the  site 
for  its  nest.  It  is  in  the  habit  of  choosing  a  place 
close  to  a  torrent  and  of  lodging  its  nest  on  the  side 
of  the  gorge  immediately  above  the  stream.  It  does 
not  place  its  nest  high  up  on  the  cliff;  it  rather  looks 
for  protection  in  a  more  ingenious  way.  It  seeks  out 
a  part  of  the  torrent  where  there  is  a  waterfall  or  a 
deep  pool  and  places  its  nest  on  a  ledge  of  rock  only 


266       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

a  few  feet  above.  In  such  a  spot  the  nest  is  safe. 
The  pools  are  deep,  the  falls  turbulent,  and  the  nest, 
though  close  at  hand,  is  usually  inaccessible.  The 
bird  seems  to  show  a  clear  foresight  in  this  act ;  it 
must  understand  that  it  can  rest  secure  above  these 
waterfalls  and  pools. 

I  have  not  seen  the  blue-throated  barbet,  Cyanops 
asiatica,  actually  in  this  valley,  though  it  is  very 
common  a  little  further  to  the  east.  These  birds 
construct  their  nests  like  woodpeckers  by  boring  a 
tunnel  into  the  trunk  of  a  tree.  One  year  a  pair  of 
barbets  had  made  their  tunnel  in  the  usual  way.  The 
following  season  the  birds  returned  to  the  same  tree, 
but,  instead  of  utilizing  the  tunnel  of  the  previous 
year,  they  went  to  the  labour  of  digging  out  a  new 
tunnel  six  inches  immediately  above.  The  third 
season  they  again  returned ;  but,  as  before,  they 
refused  to  make  any  use  of  the  previous  excavations ; 
they  rather  hammered  away  at  a  new  tunnel  eighteen 
inches  higher  up  on  the  tree.  This  appeared  a  great 
waste  of  valuable  labour ;  it  seemed  as  though  the 
birds  were  in  such  bondage  to  their  instincts  that  they 
were  compelled  to  construct  a  new  tunnel  each  season 
even  though  a  suitable  one  lay  ready  at  hand  only  a 
few  inches  away.  This  may  not  be  a  just  conclusion, 
but  there  must  be  some  strong  reason  why  the  birds 
should  refuse  to  make  use  of  their  old  excavations  and 
should  rather  go  to  the  labour  of  digging  out  a  fresh 
tunnel  into  the  heart  of  a  solid  tree. 

Beneath  the  eaves  of  the  forest  bungalows,  at 
altitudes  from  6000  to  8000  feet,  the  Kashmir  martins, 
CJiclidon  kashmiriensis,  used  to  build  their  nests. 
The  architectural  instinct  of  these  birds  is  very  plastic. 


The  Brown-backed  Indian  Kobin  [Thamnohia  cambaiensis)  and  nest. 

{Face  p.  267.] 


ORNITHOLOGICAL   OBSERVATIONS     2G7 

Should  the  nest  adhere  to  the  side  of  a  wall,  then  the 
bird  supplies  it  with  a  dome  of  mud,  but  if  it  is 
situated  in  the  angle  between  the  wall  and  the  roof, 
no  dome  is  required  since  the  bird  utilizes  the  roof 
for  a  dome.  The  latter  position  is  therefore  more 
economical  for  the  bird  and  is  thus  more  frequently 
chosen.  An  underlying  support  for  the  nest  was  also 
adopted,  for  occasionally  the  martin  used  to  squeeze 
its  nest  in  between  the  rafters  and  the  roof  and  support 
its  nest  on  the  underlying  wooden  rafter.  This  latter 
change  of  instinct  was  less  fixed,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
was  more  recently  acquired,  as  I  have  noticed  that 
some  nests,  though  constructed  in  a  suitable  place  for 
deriving  support  from  the  rafter,  yet  were  separated 
by  a  space  of  about  one  inch  from  the  rafter  and  were 
completely  closed  in  by  mud  below.  Every  instinct, 
like  every  structure,  is  plastic.  Given  sufficient  time, 
it  will  mould  itself  to  new  ends. 

A  very  characteristic  feature  of  the  bird  life  of  the 
Himalaya  is  the  congregation  of  insectivorous  birds 
that  traverse  the  forest  in  a  compact  troop.  Often 
the  woods  seem  quite  deserted  and  not  a  sound  is  to 
be  heard.  Suddenly  a  hustling  throng  of  little  birds 
appears.  All  is  then  activity  and  bustle.  The  trees 
swarm  with  feathered  life.  Creepers,  different  species 
of  tits  and  warblers  arrive  and  flit  in  company  from 
tree  to  tree  ;  chats,  flycatchers,  an  occasional  nuthatch, 
perhaps  a  family  of  shrike-tits  or  laughing-thrushes,  a 
fire-crest  or  a  troop  of  minivets  also  join  in  the  common 
throncf.  A  few  seed-eatine  birds  like  the  rose-finches 
or  the  cinnamon  sparrows  sometimes  appear,  hut  the 
main  body  is  composed  of  insectivorous  species.  Some 
hang    upon    the    smaller   branches,   others   search    the 


"•--^ 


268       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

boughs  or  climb  about  the  trunks  of  the  trees ;  there 
are  some  which  make  sallies  into  the  air,  others  which 
busy  themselves  in  the  undergrowth,  others  which 
cling  to  the  cliffs  or  hunt  about  the  leaf-strewn  ground. 
Every  nook  is  thoroughly  explored  ;  the  troop  then 
passes  on  and  the  woods  are  again  deserted  of  life. 

These  troops  are  to  be  seen  at  all  altitudes  up  to 
10,000  or  11,000  feet  near  the  furthest  limits  of  the 
trees.  In  the  summer  season  they  are  thin  and  im- 
poverished since  many  of  the  birds  separate  to  fulfil 
the  duties  of  the  nest.  Some  of  the  more  familiar 
species  then  absent  themselves  from  the  troop.  In 
early  spring  they  are  strengthened  by  many  visitors 
from  the  Peninsula.  Drongos,  magpie  robins,  differ- 
ent species  of  flycatchers  then  arrive  to  join  in  the 
common  throng.  The  birds  utter  a  continual  twitter 
which  serves  to  keep  the  troop  intact ;  often  the  notes 
are  very  faint,  perhaps  beyond  the  range  of  the  human 
ear  to  detect.  When  alarmed,  as  when  a  gun  is  fired, 
they  often  have  the  habit  of  sitting  motionless  in  the 
trees.  It  seems  for  the  moment  that  they  have  gone ; 
but  soon  they  reappear  and  the  woods  again  teem 
with  life. 

This  habit  of  different  species  collecting  into 
gregarious  flocks  makes  for  the  benefit  of  all.  The 
insects  driven  by  the  tits  from  the  branches  are 
captured  by  the  warblers,  chats  or  flycatchers  in  the 
air,  or,  alighting  on  the  trunks,  fall  a  prey  to  the 
creepers  ;  others  disturbed  by  the  creepers  escape  to 
meet  a  host  of  enemies.  It  is  on  a  small  scale  the 
same  advantao-e  that  Bates  and  Belt  describe  in  the 
great  flocks  of  hunting  birds  that  traverse  the  forests 
of  Nicaragua  and   Brazil.      Here  bird  associates  with 


ORNITHOLOGICAL   OBSERVATIONS     269 

bird  to  increase  its  insect  food.  More  commonly  do 
we  see  birds,  for  the  same  purpose,  in  company  with 
other  animals.  We  see  starlings,  dronoos,  ecrrets 
living-  in  the  closest  friendship  with  cattle  to  secure 
the  insects  flushed  from  the  pasture.  Buffalo-birds 
and  rhinoceros-birds  attend  their  hosts  for  the  ticks  on 
their  bodies.  Ant-thrushes  accompany  the  foraging 
ants  of  America.  Similarly  have  I  seen  clouds  of 
swallows  following  the  ranks  of  an  army  to  capture  the 
myriads  of  insects  driven  into  the  air  by  the  advancing 
troops. 

The  flight  of  birds  has  often  attracted  the  attention 
of  observers.  One  day  I  was  watching  a  pair  of 
ravens,  Coi"vus  corax,  chasing  one  another  in  the  air 
as  though  they  were  indulging  in  a  game  of  sport. 
The  pursuer  would  hurry  forward  as  if  trying  to  catch 
and  quarrel  with  its  playmate,  but  on  reaching  it, 
instead  of  making  an  attack,  it  would  deliberately  roll 
itself  to  one  side  and  turn  one  or  more  somersaults  in 
the  air.  Then  recovering  itself,  it  would  continue  the 
chase  only  to  repeat  the  same  gymnastics.  It  gave 
the  impression  that  the  ravens  were  enjoying  a  game 
of  bird  life.  This  tumbling  in  the  air  is  a  singular 
habit.  Rooks  are  often  seen  to  indulge  in  it  as  they 
wend  their  way  home  to  roost ;  a  single  bird  will  at 
times  fall  out  of  the  flock  and  take  a  few  tumbles  in 
the  air.  In  the  case  of  the  birds  of  prey,  the  habit  of 
tumbling  is  often  associated  with  courtship.  Kites, 
Milvus  govinda,  at  the  nesting  season,  will  often  roll 
about  in  partial  revolutions,  though  I  never  saw  one 
take  a  complete  turn.  That  most  magnificent  bird, 
the  lammergeyer  or  bearded  vulture,  Gypactus  bar- 
batus,    indulges    in    a   similar    performance.      It    is    a 


270       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA  ^ 

splendid  sight  to  see  a  pair  of  these  huge  birds  in 
amorous  courtship,  tossing,  rolling,  turning  themselves, 
displaying  to  the  very  full  their  complete  conquest  of 
the  air.  I  once  saw  a  pair  of  Pallas's  fishing  eagles, 
Halia'chis  lenco^yphus,  engaged  in  somewhat  similar 
evolutions.  One  of  the  pair,  a  splendid  bird,  I  suppose 
the  male,  used  to  ascend  to  a  considerable  height  while 
the  female  sailed  along  slowly  near  the  ground.  All 
of  a  sudden  the  male  would  swoop  down  upon  his 
partner  through  a  depth  of  four  or  five  hundred  feet. 
In  a  few  moments  he  reached  her.  Then  the  female 
would  escape  his  blandishments  by  gently  rolling  over 
to  one  side  so  as  to  make  a  complete  lateral  somersault 
in  the  air.  Then  again  the  male  would  ascend,  and 
the  two  great  birds  would  continue  to  repeat  the  same 
strange  nuptial  play.  This  habit  of  turning  in  the 
air  is  also  followed  by  that  well-known  bird,  the 
scavenger-vulture,  Neophro7i  pei'cnopterus.  Though 
this  bird  is  strong  upon  the  wing,  yet  it  allows  itself 
sometimes  to  be  persecuted  by  crows.  I  have  watched 
the  crow  darting  on  the  vulture  from  above,  but  the 
great  bird  seemed  unable  to  defend  itself;  it  merely 
endeavoured  to  escape  its  attacker  by  rolling  itself 
over  in  a  somersault  through  the  air.  Certainly  this 
habit  of  tumbling  is  a  strange  performance.  With 
some  birds  it  is  probably  a  matter  of  play,  with  others 
a  manifestation  of  sexual  enjoyment,  with  others  a 
mode  of  escape  from  an  enemy.  I  have  mentioned 
these  cases  that  have  come  under  my  notice  since 
they  may  suggest  a  method  by  which  tumbler  pigeons 
might  have  developed  their  peculiar  habits. 

The   circling   llight  of  the   larger   birds  of  prey  is 
more  open  to  investigation.      It  is  indeed  a  remark- 


ORNITHOLOGICAL   OBSERVATIONS     271 

able  sight  to  see  the  eagles,  kites  and  vultures  sailing- 
round  the  crags  and  buttresses  without  the  slightest 
motion  of  their  wings.  The  birds  are  so  massive,  of 
such  vast  expanse,  that  the  sight  of  them  gliding  with 
perfect  ease  through  the  air  and,  without  the  quiver  of 
a  pinion,  sweeping  round  the  shoulder  of  a  mountain 
or  in  repeated  circles  rising  higher  into  the  heavens, 
makes  one  wonder  if  the  force  that  sustains  them  is 
not  indeed  as  marvellous  as  that  which  has  raised  the 
mountains  about  which  they  soar. 

From  a  rocky  buttress  I  have  often  watched  their 
graceful  circles,  sometimes  for  hours  at  a  time.  As 
they  sailed  close  around  the  mountain  side  I  could 
distinguish  every  feather,  and  if  there  was  the  slightest 
quiver  of  the  wing  I  would  certainly  have  detected  it. 
But  there  was  not  a  trace  of  any  movement.  The 
birds  were  accustomed  to  circle  hour  after  hour,  now 
ascending,  now  descending,  floating  about  in  the  air 
with  outstretched  motionless  wings,  full  of  such  un- 
restrained activity  and  with  such  apparent  absence  of 
all  effort  that,  in  their  conquest  of  the  air,  they  seemed 
to  put  the  laws  of  nature  at  defiance. 

The  Himalayan  griffon.  Gyps  kimalayensis,  dis- 
played this  power  of  sailing  through  the  air  perhaps 
more  fully  than  any  other  bird  ;  but  I  was  accustomed 
to  watch  the  kites,  Milvus  govinda,  more  carefully, 
and  I  think  the  following  observations  are  distinctly 
applicable  to  their  mode  of  flight. 

It  is  clear  at  the  first  glance  that  the  kites  usually 
move  in  circles.  For  some  reason  this  seems  to  be 
essential  to  a  sailino-  flicrht.     Each  circle  is  therefore 

o  o 

worthy  of  study,  and  as  we  watch  more  carefully  we 
soon  learn  that  there  are  significant  facts  to  be  seen 


272       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

in  every  circle  and  certain  conditions  on  which  their 
sailing  flight  depends. 

It  is  soon  clear  that  a  circle  is  not  a  true  circle,  but 
that  the  kite  in  sailing  round  and  round  traces  a 
succession  of  pear-shaped  figures.  These  figures  for 
convenience'  sake  may  be  called  circles.  Now  the 
presence  of  wind  appears  to  be  essential  to  successful 
circling  with  increase  in  height,  so  it  is  possible  to 
divide  the  circle  into  segments  ;  one,  the  windward 
segment  or  that  portion  traced  by  the  bird  when 
moving  against  the  wind,  and  the  other,  the  leeward 
segment  or  that  followed  by  the  bird  when  moving 
with  the  wind.  Havinir  divided  the  circle  into  these 
two  segments,  we  observe  the  behaviour  of  the  bird 
in  each  of  the  segments,  and  from  this  gain  a  clue  as 
to  the  mechanism  by  which  it  is  sustained.  It  is 
understood  that  the  kite  is  circling,  that  it  is  gaining 
height  at  every  circle,  that  at  one  side  of  the  circle  it  is 
moving  to  windward  or  heading  the  wind,  and  that  on 
the  other  side  it  is  moving  to  leeward  or  coming  down 
the  wind. 

Thus  dividinor  the  circle  into  a  windward  and  a  lee- 
ward  segment,  we  are  able  to  detect  four  salient  facts. 
Firstly,  we  note  that  the  bird  on  the  leeward  side 
makes  a  much  longer  sweep  than  it  does  on  the  wind- 
ward side.  It  travels  over  a  longer  distance.  To 
windward  the  bird  seems  cramped  for  space ;  it  turns 
more  sharply,  while  to  leeward  it  circles  in  a  free  and 
easy  sweep.  In  the  windward  segment  it  is  tracing 
the  sharp  apex  of  the  pear,  while  to  leeward  it  follows 
a  broad  open  course. 

Secondly,  we  note  that  on  the  windward  side  of  the 
circle  the  kite  moves  at  a  diminished  speed.     Away  to 


ORNITHOLOGICAL   OBSERVATIONS    273 

leeward  it  sails  free  and  unrestrained,  but  as  it  comes 
round  to  the  wind  its  pace  lessens,  it  seems  almost 
to  struggle  like  a  ship  beating  against  the  element. 
Slower  and  slower  grows  its  pace,  greater  and  greater 
is  its  contest  with  the  wind,  until  at  length  its  speed  is 
exhausted  and  the  bird  swerves  to  leeward  and  sails 
gaily  before  the  wind. 

Thirdly,  we  note  that  there  is  a  change  in  the 
attitude  of  the  bird  in  the  two  different  seL^ments.  On 
the  windward  side  the  bird  inclines  its  body.  To 
leeward  it  appears  naturally  horizontal ;  but  as  it  comes 
round  with  its  head  to  the  wind,  its  whole  body  inclines 
so  that  the  head  is  raised,  the  tail  lowered,  and  the 
under  surface  of  the  body  and  wings  rest  in  a  steep 
incline  upon  the  wind  like  the  sails  of  a  ship  beating 
close-hauled  against  the  breeze. 

Fourthly,  we  note,  and  this  perhaps  is  the  most 
important  observation  of  all,  that  the  bird  ascends  on 
the  windward  side  and  descends  on  the  leeward  side. 
It  is  dependent  solely  on  the  windward  segment  to 
increase  the  height  of  its  circles  ;  it  can  do  nothing  to 
leeward.  It  is  contesting  against  the  stress  of  gravity  ; 
to  windward  it  gains,  to  leeward  it  loses  in  the  contest, 
but  the  gain  being  greater  than  the  loss  it  moves 
higher  in  the  air. 

These  four  facts  supply  us  with  definite  information. 
It  is  just  this  :  that  a  kite  can  ascend  in  ever-rising 
circles  without  the  sliorhtest  motion  of  its  wings,  and 
that  every  time  the  bird  comes  to  the  windward  side 
of  the  circle  it  shortens  the  length  of  its  course,  it 
lessens  its  speed,  it  inclines  its  body  obliquely  to  the 
wind,  it  ascends  into  the  air ;  and  every  time  it  falls 
away  to  leeward,  it  lengthens  its  course,  increases  its 


274       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

speed,  rests  horizontally  on  Its  pinions  and  descends 
slightly  to  the  earth.  Thus  the  windward  motions 
are  the  reverse  of  the  leeward  motions.  The  bird's 
objective  is  increase  in  altitude.  To  windward  it 
gains,  to  leeward  it  loses  its  object,  but  in  a  moderate 
breeze  the  gain  up  wind  is  greater  than  the  loss  down 
wind,  and  the  difference  between  the  two  is  the  measure 
of  the  bird's  success. 

But  why  this  extraordinary  contrast  ?  Why  free 
gliding  to  leeward  ?  why  restraint  against  the  wind  ? 
Why  is  there  a  lessened  speed,  an  inclined  body,  and 
an  ascent  on  one  side  of  the  circle  and  the  reverse  on 
the  other  side  ?  I  believe  that  the  contrast  is  due  to 
the  fact  that  to  leeward  the  object  of  the  bird  is  to 
develop  speed,  and  to  windward  to  convert  the  energy 
of  that  speed  into  a  fresh  gain  in  height.  Everything 
to  leeward  favours  the  bird  in  its  accumulation  of 
speed.  Its  longer  and  wider  sweep,  its  horizontal 
attitude,  its  gradual  descent  and  the  fair  breeze 
streaming  through  its  feathers  all  combine  to  give  it 
fresh  momentum  and  a  new  store  of  energy  for  the 
windward  rise. 

Nor  does  it  appear  difficult  to  undert^nd  the 
mechanism  by  which  an  opposing  wind  produces  an 
increase  in  the  altitude  of  a  bird  already  possessing 
momentum,  or,  in  other  words,  the  method  by  which 
the  kinetic  energy  of  the  leeward  speed  is  converted 
into  the  potential  energy  of  the  windward  height. 
For  each  time  the  kite  comes  round  to  the  wind  it 
faces  a  greater  obstruction  to  its  forward  flight ;  but  as 
it  raises  the  fore  end  of  its  body  and  depresses  the 
hind  end  so  as  to  offer  an  inclined  surface  to  the  wind, 
then  the  effect  of  the  wind  actin^-  against  this  inclined 


ORNITHOLOGICAL   OBSERVATIONS    27:, 

surface  will  be  not  only  to  check  the  onw.ird  motion 
of  the  bird,  but  also  to  raise  it  in  the  air.  The 
mechanism  seems  much  the  same  as  that  by  which  a 
child's  kite  is  enabled  to  rise  when  an  additional 
momentum  is  given  to  it  by  running  onward  with  the 
line.  The  bird  develops  its  fresh  store  of  momentum 
by  sweeping  round  to  leeward  and  then  coming  up  to 
windward ;  the  child  develops  its  momentum  in  the 
kite  by  pulling-  rapidly  on  the  line.  But  as  the  bird  is 
lifted  upward  by  the  wind,  so  at  the  sanies  time  docs 
its  rate  of  motion  rapidly  diminish  and  at  length 
becomes  so  slow  that  the  bird  can  no  longer  face  the 
wind.  Its  momentum  is  exhausted  and  the  kite  can 
in  this  circle  gain  no  more  in  height,  for  without 
momentum  it  can  do  nothing.  It  must  turn  away  to 
leeward,  develop  a  new  store  of  energy  in  its  wheel 
and  come  up  again  to  windward  with  increasing  speed. 
It  has  renewed  its  store  of  momentum  ;  it  again 
presents  its  inclined  wings  and  body  to  the  opposing 
breeze  and  repeats  the  windward  rise. 

If  the  kite  can  ascend  only  when  circling  to  wind- 
ward, it  follows  that,  in  the  absence  of  wind,  the  bird 
is  unable  to  circle  with  gain  in  height.  It  can  certainly 
sweep  round  in  circles  on  the  calmest  day,  and  may 
even  use  its  momentum  to  make  a  short  temporary 
rise  ;  but  without  wind,  it  is  quite  unable  to  make  a 
permanent  addition  to  its  altitude  in  each  successive 
circle,  and  must  of  necessity  flap  its  wings  if  it  wishes 
to  rise  higher  into  the  sky.  A  bird  circling  in  the 
absence  of  wind  is  all  the  time  sinking ;  at  the  end  of 
each  circle  it  is  a  little  nearer  the  ground  than  at  the 
end  of  the  preceding  circle,  and  as  it  sinks  lower  and 
lower  it  will  have  to  abandon  its  jKissIve  circling  and 


276       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

take  to  the  more  energetic  motion  of  flapping-  its  wings. 
It  is  very  different  in  the  presence  of  wind.  As  soon 
as  the  gentlest  breeze  appears  the  bird  becomes  less 
helpless  ;  on  the  windward  side  of  the  circle  it  begins 
to  rise  slightly,  but  if  the  breeze  is  only  a  gentle  waft 
of  air,  the  rise  up  wind  is  not  sufficient  to  counteract 
the  fall  down  wind,  and  the  consequence  is  that  the 
bird  will  still  continue  to  descend  but  less  rapidly  than 
if  there  was  no  wind  at  all.  The  breeze  grows  into  a 
sensible  current  and,  as  it  strengthens,  the  gain  in 
height  increases  to  the  windward  ;  the  bird's  ascent  up 
wind  has  now  equalled  its  descent  down  wind  and  the 
kite  can  with  motionless  wings  maintain  itself  aloft. 
Still  the  wind  grows  stronger  ;  the  leaves  now  rustle 
on  the  trees  and  the  air  is  felt  streaming  round  the 
mountain  side.  The  kite  has  now  gained  mastery 
over  the  element ;  no  longer  are  its  movements 
deliberate  and  restrained,  no  longer  does  it  struggle 
to  hold  itself  aloft ;  it  rises  high  to  windward  as  it 
circles  free  and  full  of  life.  From  the  invisible  air  it 
has  grasped  the  power  to  raise  it  from  the  ground. 
Higher  and  higher,  but  with  never  a  quiver  of  the 
wing,  it  rises  towards  the  snowy  peaks,  and  the 
strengthening  wind  renews  and  still  renews  its  height 
as  it  faces  the  current  on  every  circle.  It  displays  its 
complete  conquest  of  the  air.  The  valleys,  the  belts 
of  conifers,  the  glaciers  and  the  snows  pass  in 
succession  before  its  proud  ascent.  Now  it  has  risen 
above  the  glittering  peaks  and  feels  the  breeze  free 
and  unconfined.  Round  and  round  it  circles  sailinor 
with  complete  ease.  Now  rising,  now  sinking,  it  no 
longer  depends  upon  its  own  efforts,  but  it  takes  its 
power  from  the  wind  of  heaven  and,  full  of  confidence 


ORNITHOLOGICAL   OBSERVATIONS     - 


^  1 1 


in   its   victory,   it  sails  higher  and   higlicr  above   the 
broken  ranges,  a  tiny  speck  in  the  firmamental  blue. 

The  rise  up  wind  is  easy  to  observe  even  in  a  gentle 
breeze.  I  have  frequently  been  able  to  determine  the 
direction  of  the  wind  at  altitudes  far  above  me  by 
watching  the  gain  to  windward  in  every  circle,  and  to 
predict  the  point  from  where  the  wind  would  blow 
when  it  was  not  yet  perceptible  on  the  ground.  These 
predictions  used  to  bring  conviction  that  wind  was  all 
essential  to  a  bird  if  by  circling  alone  it  was  to  gain 
in  height.  When,  in  the  early  morning,  there  often 
was  no  wind,  the  kites  refused  to  soar  ;  but  on  the 
appearance  of  the  first  breeze,  they  felt  the  energy 
that  was  to  raise  them,  and  in  numbers  they  rose  aloft 
circling  freely  in  the  strengthening  breeze.  When  the 
wind  is  streaming  in  the  heavens,  the  gorges  are  ofieii 
sheltered  from  its  force  and  the  birds  are  unable  to 
rise  in  circles  until  they  clear  the  confines  of  the  gorge. 
While  sheltered  between  the  rocky  walls,  they  move 
by  an  alternate  flapping  and  gliding  llight,  rising  when 
they  flap  and  sinking  when  they  glide  ;  but  as  soon  as 
they  overtop  the  gorge  and  feel  the  flowing  wind  in 
their  pinions  all  flapping  ceases,  for  the  wind  now 
supplies  them  with  the  force  that  in  the  shelter 
demanded  the  energy  of  their  wings,  and  they  rise 
higher  into  the  heavens  by  free  circling  flight. 

How  often  has  it  been  asked,  "  Why  do  birds,  with 
outstretched,  motionless  wings,  circle  for  hours  alolt 
in  the  sky  ? "  I  believe  they  circle,  not  because  they 
enjoy  circling,  but  because,  if  they  are  to  remain  alolt 
without  continual  muscular  eflbrt,  then  they  must 
circle.  A  kite  or  vulture  has  to  soar  far  above  the 
mountains  and,  with  piercing  eye,  scan  every  valley 


278       A  NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

for  its  carrion.  For  hours  daily  it  must  maintain 
itself  aloft,  and  it  has  learned  to  do  so  with  the 
minimum  of  effort.  By  no  other  motion  but  that  of 
circling  can  it  take  from  the  wind  at  every  quarter,  for 
the  wind  to  windward  gives  it  height  and  to  leeward 
gives  it  speed,  and  this  leeward  speed  is  again 
converted   into  windward  height, 

I  do  not  pretend  that  this  explains  the  whole 
mechanism  by  which  the  birds  of  prey  sail  with  such 
freedom  through  the  air.  But  I  see  no  necessity  to 
postulate  ascending  air-currents  or  to  seek  for  a 
solution  in  hypothetical  forces.  The  streaming  winds, 
whose  power  we  see  on  every  side,  is  to  me  a  sufficient 
cause  to  explain  the  rising  circles  of  a  bird. 

The  grandeur  of  the  Himalaya  is  vivified  and 
ennobled  by  the  vultures  proudly  sailing  above  its 
peaks.  Their  great  strength  and  the  majesty  of  their 
circles  is  in  harmony  with  the  rugged  scene,  and  as 
in  passive  silence  they  rise  and  fall,  displaying  their 
conquest  of  the  hidden  powers  of  Nature,  they  call  to 
mind  those  other  invisible  forces  that  shape  the  peaks 
and  hew  the  gorges  and  govern  the  rise  and  fall  of 
ranges. 


CHAPTER   XV 

GEOLOGICAL    SKETCH 

General  features  of  Hazara — Central  granite — PaUeozoic  slates — Infra- 
Triassic  series— Triassic  limestones — Jurassic  and  Cretaceous — 
Eocene  Nummulitics — Vegetation  of  Tertiaries — Summary  of 
geological  changes — Movements  of  sand  in  a  mountain  stream. 

Any  one  who  studies  the  rocks  of  Hazara  must  feel 
a  debt  of  gratitude  to  Mr.  C.  S.  Middlemiss  of  the 
Indian  Geological  Survey,  to  whose  labours  the 
geology  of  the  Himalaya,  and  especially  of  this 
district,  owes  so  much. 

I  will  attempt  a  very  brief  sketch  of  the  geological 
structure  of  the  country,  and  try  to  indicate  the  various 
changes  which  the  hills  have  undergone  through  the 
long  lapse  of  time. 

A  vast  thickness  of  sedimentary  rocks,  upheaved 
and  rendered  in  part  crystalline,  is  the  main  feature  in 
the  geological  structure  of  the  district.  It  has  been 
involved  in  that  extensive  crustal  movement  by  which 
the  whole  length  of  the  Himalaya  has  been  uplifted 
so  recently  as  Tertiary  times.  This  disturbance  has 
thrown  Hazara  into  a  series  of  mountain  folds.  From 
north-east  to  south-west  these  folds  sweep  across  the 
district ;  their  summits  are  riven  into  peaks  and  domes 
of  which  the  highest  are  clothed  in  perpetual  snow  ; 
their  flanks  support  broad  spurs  and  buttresses,  and 
in  their  valleys  lie  the  cold  silent  glaciers.  In  the 
extreme  north  alone,  where  this  narrow  strip  of  land 

279 


280       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIIVIALAYA 

has  invaded  the  Himalayan  axis,  are  the  mountains 
built  on  so  large  a  scale.  To  the  south  the  country 
is  less  broken.  The  mountains  have  diminished  into 
rugged  hills  ;  the  snows  are  replaced  by  dark 
coniferous  forests  and  the  silent  glaciers  by  torrents 
and  cascades. 

To  best  view  the  structure  of  this  district  we  strike 
a  course  directly  across  it.  If  we  start  from  the  north- 
west and  travel  in  a  south-easterly  direction  over  the 
mountains,  the  upheaved  edges  of  the  strata  rise  in  a 
succession  of  rocky  zones  before  us.  At  first  we  stand 
upon  the  crystalline  core  of  the  mountains.  This  is 
the  central  mass  of  gneissose  granite  which  some  time 
in  the  Eocene  period  was  forced  upward  in  a  molten 
state  and,  intruding  itself  within  the  overlying  sedi- 
ments, raised  up  the  Himalaya.  It  is  chiefly  a  biotite 
granite  sparkling  with  little  flakes  of  black  mica,  but  in 
some  places  we  find  dark  masses  of  hornblende  or 
beautiful  crystals  of  tourmaline.  The  Himalayan 
granite  covers  a  wide  area.  It  extends  into  the  centre 
of  all  the  main  ranges  throughout  the  whole  length  of 
the  Himalaya  and  upwards  into  its  loftiest  peaks.  To 
the  north  of  this  district  we  may  trace  it  to  the  moun- 
tain passes  that  lead  across  the  frontier.  From  the 
passes  we  may  see  the  granite  rising  into  the  distant 
peaks  and  sinking  into  the  deep  ravines.  We  see 
glaciers  furrowing  its  sides  and  its  broken  ridges 
clothed  in  snow  and  ice.  It  is  an  amazing  spectacle  ; 
this  igneous  outburst,  divested  of  all  its  covering  of 
sediments,  torn  and  shattered  by  the  hand  of  time  and 
raised  into  thousands  of  nameless  mountains,  range 
upon  range,  as  far  as  the  human  eye  can  reach.  The 
mind  cannot  for  a  moment  grasp  the  force  of  that 


GEOLOGICAL   SKETCH  281 

upheaval,  and  is  equally  baffled  at  the  slow  destructive 
work  of  ages.  No  intrusion  of  the  earth's  crust  bears 
any  comparison  to  that  of  the  Himalayan  granite.  It 
extends  from  east  to  west  of  the  Himalaya  as  the 
backbone,  not  of  one,  but  of  a  succession  of  parallel 
ranges  through  the  heart  of  the  continent ;  it  rises  to  a 
higher  level  than  any  other  portion  of  the  globe  ;  it 
stands  as  an  impregnable  barrier  across  the  fertile 
plains  of  India. 

This  intrusion  is  the  backbone  of  Hazara.  Let 
us  follow  it  to  the  south-east.  As  we  approach  the 
sediments  the  scene  grows  tamer.  The  mountains 
sink  into  more  rounded  hills  ;  the  snows  and  glaciers 
disappear.  The  hills  dwindle  into  what  in  comparison 
to  the  great  peaks  seem  as  little  hillocks,  and  on  their 
summits  we  detect  the  granite  weathered  into  rounded 
blocks  as  though  they  were  transported  boulders. 
These  massive  blocks  into  which  the  granite  is  worn 
are  conspicuous  for  miles  around.  Some  stand  like 
natural  pillars  on  the  summit  of  a  peak  and  are 
consecrated  by  the  inhabitants  as  a  place  of  worship. 
Through  countless  years  these  boulders  must  have 
attracted  the  attention  of  race  after  race  of  peoples,  for 
on  three  of  the  most  massive  ones,  the  Buddhist  king 
Asoka  has  inscribed  the  principles  of  piety,  tolerance 
and  charity  which  he  demanded  all  his  subjects  to 
follow.  It  is  remarkable  to  picture  this  powerful  king 
preaching  these  noble  tenets  to  his  people,  to  think 
of  him  engraving  on  blocks  of  granite,  almost  three 
hundred  years  before  the  birth  of  Christ,  that  "self- 
control,  therefore,  is  meritorious, — to  wit,  hearkening 
to  the  law  of  others  and  hearkening  willingly." 

We  follow  the  central  granite  still   further  to  th§ 


282       A  NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

south-east  and  it  gradually  disappears.  It  is  lost 
beneath  the  second  zone,  the  zone  of  Palaeozoic  slates. 
This  is  a  formation  of  great  thickness  and  covers  a 
wide  area  of  Hazara.  As  we  first  meet  it  at  its  place 
of  contact  with  the  granite,  we  find  the  strata  almost 
vertically  upheaved  and  the  slates  converted  into 
crystalline  schists  in  which  may  sometimes  be  found 
beautiful  flakes  of  mica.  These  schists  are  very 
fissile.  So  brittle  are  they  in  places  that  the  ants  can 
drive  their  tunnels  and  extend  the  ramifications  of 
their  galleries  between  their  crumbling  laminae.  Their 
weathering  is  sometimes  distinctive,  for  some  of  the 
hills  disintegrate  into  a  soft  white  powder,  giving 
them  the  appearance  of  cliffs  of  chalk.  There  is 
thus  considerable  metamorphosis  in  the  lowest  of  the 
sedimentary  beds,  the  consequence,  I  suppose,  of  their 
proximity  to  the  central  granite  when  it  was  intruded 
in  the  molten  state. 

We  soon  leave  the  crystalline  schists  and  travel 
onward  over  the  upturned  beds  of  slate.  They  are 
extremely  fissile,  breaking  away  beneath  our  feet. 
Here  and  there  we  find  little  bands  of  sandstone  and 
conglomerate  each  telling  its  story  of  the  more  troubled 
waters  in  which  it  was  laid  down,  or  subordinate  layers 
of  limestone  indicating  the  still  depths  of  a  deeper  sea. 
But  these  are  only  unimportant  breaks  in  the  dull 
monotonous  slates.  We  smash  them  with  a  hammer, 
but  not  a  fossil  can  be  found.  We  wonder  what  their 
age  can  be.  No  organic  remains  give  any  assistance, 
so  we  look  to  what  lies  above  and  below  them. 
Younger  than  the  underlying  granite,  they  are  over- 
laid unconformably  by  thousands  of  feet  of  limestone 
which  are  themselves  covered  by  Triassic  sediments. 


GEOLOGICAL   SKETCH  283 

Vastly  older  than  the  Trias  they  must  be,  but  how 
much  older  we  cannot  tell.  It  is  impossible  to  ascribe 
their  age  with  greater  accuracy  than  to  say  that  they 
are  Paleeozoic. 

Across  the  Himalaya,  far  away  to  the  north,  on  the 
Pamir  plateau  I  have  seen  similar  unfossiliferous  slates 
metamorphosed  and  upheaved  by  the  same  Himalayan 
granite.  They  were  the  highest  sediments  I  had  ever 
seen,  and  I  suspect  that  they  were  stratigraphically  the 
same  slates  that  here  exist  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
mountain  ranges. 

The  accumulations  of  slate  give  characteristic 
features  to  the  landscape.  Elongated  parallel  hills 
range  across  the  country.  Their  rounded  backs  are 
bare  of  verdure  save  for  a  few  scattered  pines  that 
struggle  hard  for  life,  and  a  coarse  mountain  grass 
parched  and  yellow  until  freshened  by  the  summer 
rains.  Many  happy  days  have  I  spent  in  their  solitary 
glens  watching  the  spiders  spin  their  snares  over  the 
brooks  or  the  insects  playing  over  the  placid  pools. 

We  scramble  on  over  the  hills  and  reach  the  next 
geological  zone,  the  Infra-Trias  series.  Should  fortune 
favour,  and  we  find  the  line  of  contact  between  the 
slates  and  the  superimposed  beds,  we  will  see  a  broad 
band  of  conglomerate  resting  unconformably  on  the 
upturned  ends  of  the  fissile  slates.  In  the  conglomer- 
ate are  flattened  and  waterworn  fragments  of  those 
same  slates,  indicating  that  from  the  denudation  of  the 
slates  the  conglomerate  was  partly  formed.  The  sea 
deepens ;  the  conglomerate  is  replaced  by  purple 
sandstone  and  later  the  sandstone  by  an  immense 
thickness  of  limestone.  Massive  and  imposing  hills 
are  built  up  of  this   formation.     To   the  south   they 


284       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

display  steep,  almost  precipitous,  cliffs,  while  to  the 
north  they  sink  towards  the  valleys  in  a  more  gentle 
slope.  Many  shades  of  purple,  rose  and  yellow  fade 
imperceptibly  one  into  the  other,  giving  a  variety 
of  colour  to  the  stone.  There  is  no  sign  of  any 
organic  remains.  Not  an  organism  can  be  found  in 
these  dense  limestone  strata.  All  are  crystallized  and 
crushed  out  of  recognition  in  the  terrific  force  of  the 
upheaval. 

We  wander  on  in  the  same  direction  ;  we  cross  over 
faults  in  the  limestone  cliffs  and  soon  become  aware  of 
the  fact  that  the  rock  has  assumed  a  pale  blue  tint. 
Almost  imperceptibly  we  have  climbed  over  to  the  next 
zone,  the  Triassic  limestones.  In  broken  and  detached 
masses  they  rest  upon  the  older  series  and  cling  to  the 
flanks  of  the  forest-clad  hills.  We  search  them  as  we 
pass  on.  Here  and  there  are  yellow  patches  in  the 
solid  mass  or  indistinct  blotches  like  the  marks  of 
organic  beings.  Now  we  come  upon  a  volcanic  out- 
burst ;  it  is  a  dark  red  breccia,  and  we  can  detect  the 
innumerable  volcanic  fragments  that  compose  it  and 
ponder  over  the  molten  lava  that  overflowed  the 
ancient  mountains.  Further  on  we  find  the  limestone 
heavy  and  black  with  iron,  and  still  further  on  we  may 
see  the  natives  hewing  its  substance  for  building- 
stones.  Again  we  search  for  organic  remains,  but 
nothing  is  to  be  found  in  the  broken  rock  except  little 
fragments  of  Megalodon  and  splinters  of  other  fossil 
shells  that  obstinately  refuse  to  separate  from  the 
stone.  Yet  we  value  these  broken  fragments ;  they 
are  the  first  we  have  found  in  our  long  journey  from 
the  central  granite  over  the  unfossiliferous  deposits  of 
vast  ages ;  they  give  us  an  inkling  of  the  geological 


GEOLOGICAL   SKETCH  285 

period  in  which  this  bulk  of  h'mestone  was  deposited, 
and  place  still  further  back  in  the  depths  of  unrecorded 
time  the  aoe  of  the  oreater  masses  that  lie  beneath. 

We  pass  on.  We  climb  the  flanks  of  the  hills  to 
reach  the  next  zone,  the  bands  of  Jurassic  and 
Cretaceous  rocks  with  their  rich  store  of  fossils. 
Wedged  in  between  the  Trias  and  the  thick  Tertiary- 
formation  we  come  upon  these  strata.  They  lie  in 
narrow  bands  stretching  from  north-east  to  south-west 
across  the  district.  Softer  in  structure,  more  easily 
denuded  by  the  heat,  the  cold  and  the  torrential  rains, 
they  present  a  distinct  contrast  to  the  more  compact 
masses  that  lie  above  and  below  them.  They  seldom 
stand  out  in  bold  relief  They  form  no  crag  or 
buttress  on  the  hillside.  More  often  are  they  hidden 
rocks.  Accumulations  of  soil,  broken  fragments  of 
stone  and  the  less  resisting  products  of  erosion  may 
conceal  them  ;  they  may  mark  the  lines  of  glens  and 
valleys  that  have  carved  them,  or  the  course  of  a 
narrow  mountain  path.  Moisture  lodges  in  their 
substance,  and,  as  it  trickles  through  the  fissile  shales, 
they  crumble  the  more  easily  to  decay. 

Though  these  Jurassic  bands  are  narrow,  but  a  few 
hundred  feet  in  thickness  and  insignificant  compared 
with  the  enclosing  limestones,  yet  they  are  composed 
of  many  and  different  layers.  Beneath,  resting 
directly  on  the  Trias,  are  black  and  fragile  shales  easily 
split  asunder.  On  every  face  of  the  severed  rock  we 
see  the  lines  and  rusty  blotches  that  mark  the  impress 
of  organic  beings.  We  continue  the  search  and  more 
perfect  specimens  appear,  belemnites  often  in  frag- 
ments, a  complete  Pecten  or  Inoceramus  with  radial 
or  concentric  sculpture  still  perfectly  displayed. 


286       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

Passing  from  the  moist  and  fruitful  shale,  we  come 
upon  a  dark  sandstone  weathering  to  a  brown  |iue, 
and  dense  beds  of  a  compact  limestone  studded  with 
countless  shells.  The  stone  is  thick  with  these 
remains.  On  the  weathered  surface  they  appear  in 
mild  relief  with  lines  shaded  in  pink  and  blue  that 
decorate  the  rock  with  innumerable  broken  curves. 
More  beds  of  a  yellow  shale  and  a  narrow  ferrugineous 
band  with  spherical  granules  of  iron  surmount  the 
shelly  limestone. 

Leaving  the  Jurassic,  we  come  upon  the  Cretaceous. 
This  is  a  narrow  strip  of  rock  some  ten  feet  in  thick- 
ness. It  is  an  orange-coloured  sandstone  showing 
here  and  there  an  ammonite  which,  in  our  efforts  to 
extract,  falls  to  fragments  in  our  hands. 

Now  we  reach  the  great  Tertiary  formation  that 
covers  so  vast  an  area  of  Hazara  and  ascends  into  its 
forest-clad  hills.  This  is  the  Nummulitic  series  of 
limestones,  sandstones  and  shales.  The  lowest  beds 
are  barren  of  remains,  but  the  higher  strata  are  studded 
with  many  nummulites.  Other  shells  appear  on  the 
weathered  surface.  Small  but  nearly  perfect  specimens 
of  Pecten  are  visible  on  the  shale  and  the  imprints  of 
Echinoids  in  the  grey  limestone.  The  nummulites 
swarm  through  the  rock ;  in  one  square  inch  of  surface 
I  counted  120  of  these  little  foraminifers.  Small  and 
indistinct  in  the  limestone,  they  led  a  more  vigorous 
life  during  the  deposition  of  the  shales.  There  we  find 
the  same  crowds  of  nummulites,  but  larger,  more 
robust  and  perfect  specimens,  displaying  after  all  these 
ages  the  original  beauty  of  their  fragile  structure,  the 
delicacy  of  the  fine  septa  and  the  symmetry  of  the 
embracini^  whorls. 


GEOLOGICAL   SKETCH  287 

These  thick  Eocene  beds  rise  to  the  summit  of  the 
wooded  hills.  Viewed  from  a  distance  they  seem  to 
ascend  like  giant  steps  from  the  foot-hills  to  the  higher 
mountains.  Sometimes  they  are  moulded  into  rounded 
domes,  but  more  often  are  abruptly  carved  into  narrow 
ridges  that  fall  in  a  steep  incline  to  the  valley  or  end 
in  a  bare  precipitous  cliff.  The  slopes  of  the  hills 
sink  down  into  deep  ravines.  A  small  stream,  rarely 
a  torrent,  trickles  over  the  valley  bed.  Other  valleys 
have  not  a  trace  of  water.  It  is  easy  to  understand 
how  these  valleys  are  increased  in  width  when  we  see 
the  debris  pouring  down  their  slopes,  loosened  by  the 
heat  and  cold,  dislodged  by  the  percolation  of  water  or 
split  asunder  by  the  roots  of  the  trees.  But  it  is  more 
difficult  to  appreciate  the  slow  process  by  which  the 
valleys  have  been  deepened  ;  how  these  small  streams, 
often  only  a  trickle  of  water  or  flowing  after  rain  for  a 
few  clays  in  the  year,  can  have  dug  a  thousand  feet 
into  the  ravines.  For  so  slow  an  agent  to  produce 
so  great  an  effect  we  seem  to  require  an  almost 
illimitable  time. 

We  are  liable  to  form  an  inaccurate  conclusion  as  to 
the  activity  of  the  erosion  of  these  Tertiary  rocks  when 
we  view  the  valleys  in  the  dry  months  of  the  year. 
Then  we  see  so  little  sign  of  the  wear  and  tear  of  the 
rock  surface  that  we  think  the  hills  can  never  change. 
But  after  the  first  heavy  rains  following  a  period  of 
drought  another  scene  appears.  From  every  gully  in 
the  limestone  cliffs  piles  of  debris  and  large  angulated 
stones  shoot  down  into  the  valley.  Often  they 
obstruct  the  roads  and  take  the  workmen  days  to  clear 
away  the  ruin.  Months  of  slow  erosion  are  made 
manifest  in  a  single  day.      I  have  sometimes  imagined 


288       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

that  the  rush  of  stones  pouring  down  one  of  these  steep 
ravines  had  more  effect  in  grinding  into  the  solid  rock 
than  had  the  waters  that  dislodged  them. 

Magnificent  trees  clothe  these  limestone  hills.     The 

conifers  first  appear  at  an  altitude  of  about  5000  feet. 

They  commence  as  weak  and  stunted  trees  scattered 

thinly    over    the    slope,    then    rapidly    increasing    in 

strength  and  numbers  they  become  the  finest  in   the 

forest.      It  is  marvellous  to   see  the   way  these  pines 

and  firs  cling  to  the  limestone   cliffs,  entwining  their 

roots    around    the    spurs    or   striking    down    into    the 

crevices  of  the  rocks.     They  struggle  hard  to  exist  in 

so  barren  a  soil,  and,  in  places,  the  withered   trunks 

tell  how  many  have  failed  in  the  contest.      Evergreen 

and  deciduous    trees    both    add   their    beauty    to    the 

Eocene  rocks.     The  pines  and  firs  are  mingled  with 

the     chestnut,      ilex,    cherry     and     sycamore.        On 

opposite  sides  of  the  same  valley   we  see  a   marked 

contrast    in    the    vegetation.     For    on    the    northern 

slopes    of   the    hills    the    silver    fir,    Abies    luebbiana, 

grows  in  full  luxuriance,  while  the  southern  slopes  it 

abandons  to  the  blue  pine,  Pinus  excelsa.     Standing 

in  the  valley,  we  see  the  decided  contrast.    On  the  one 

side  are  the  thick,  dark,  gloomy  pines,  on  the  other 

the  equally  dark,  but  taller  and  more  stately  firs,  while 

intermingled   with   both   are  the    lighter   tints  of  the 

deciduous    trees    softening    the    general    hue   of    the 

vegetation  with  varied  shades  of  green.     And  as  we 

look  up  the  pine-clad  cliffs  to  the  summit  of  the  hill, 

we  see  a  row  of  silver  firs,  that  thrive  on  the  opposite 

side  of  the  slope,  raising  their  tall  straight  trunks  above 

the  ridge  and  standing  firm  against  the  clear  sky  like 

a  line  of  sentinels  upon  the  mountain.     Such   is  the 


GEOLOGICAL   SKETCH  280 

rich   verdure   that   clothes   the   Tertiary  rocks   of  the 
district. 

Now  that  we  have  followed  the  rocky  zones  from 
the  central  core  of  the  Himalaya  to  the  deposits  of 
Eocene  times,  let  us  glance  for  a  moment  at  the  story 
they  tell  of  the  past  history  of  this  portion  of  the 
earth. 

We  must  cast  our  mind  back  in  thought  to  Pala^- 
ozoic  times  when  a  broad  sea  covered  all  Central  Asia 
and  washed  the  northern  shores  of  what  is  now  the 
Peninsula  of  India.  A  shore  is  a  line  of  weakness  in 
the  earth's  crust  liable  to  be  raised  into  mountain  folds, 
and  it  was  along-  the  southern  shores  of  that  Central 
Asian  sea,  where  the  waves  lapped  the  northern  coast 
of  India,  that  the  Himalayan  ranges  were  built  up. 
Few  deposits  are  so  little  known  as  the  sediments  of 
that  ancient  sea.  When  Thibet  is  opened  to  scientific 
exploration  more  will  be  learnt  of  these  deposits,  for 
the  hills  of  that  plateau  are  largely  built  up  of  its 
sediments  and  are  charged  with  the  remains  of  living 
creatures  that  once  moved  upon  its  bed.  But  our 
ignorance  is  not  complete,  for  here,  over  Hazara,  there 
flowed  a  little  inlet  of  that  sea,  a  narrow  arm  extending 
southward,  eating  its  way  into  the  northern  shores  of 
India  and  depositing  those  piles  of  sediment  over 
which  we  have  just  passed. 

Let  us  walk  over  the  oround  aoain.  The  slates 
indicate  the  shallow  waters  of  the  Central  Asian  sea, 
lying  near  to  the  ancient  coast-line,  depositing  layer 
upon  layer  of  mud,  and  no  doubt  swarming  with  animal 
life  though  all  trace  has  disappeared.  Here  and  there 
the  subordinate  bands  of  limestone  and  conglomerate 
tell  how  that  ocean  bed  now  deepened,  now  grew  more 
u 


290       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

shallow,  just  like  the  unstable  oceans  of  to-day.  But 
for  immense  periods  of  time  that  sea  must  have  stood 
almost  unchanged  while  it  deposited  the  nearly  uniform 
beds  of  slate.  Gradually  the  crust  begins  to  rise  ;  the 
Central  Asian  sea  grows  more  shallow  as  it  recedes 
northward  ;  its  bed  at  length  appears  above  the  waters 
and  the  slates  become  a  land  surface.  Now  we  see  in 
the  upturned  ends  of  those  slates,  denuded  by  the 
rains  and  rivers  and  unconformably  overlain  by  other 
sediments,  a  trace  of  that  ancient  land. 

For  an  unknown  time  it  is  worn  and  denuded  by 
the  usual  agents  that  carve  the  earth.  But  at  last  the 
upheaval  ceases  ;  again  the  land  subsides  ;  the  waters 
of  the  Central  Asian  sea  roll  back  over  the  sinking 
shores  and  Hazara  again  becomes  an  ocean.  The 
waters  at  first  are  shallow  and  troubled  and  are 
filled  with  pebbles  from  the  subsiding  shores.  Slowly 
the  sea  deepens,  more  and  more  of  the  earth  is 
submerged,  the  pebbles  are  replaced  by  a  finer  sand, 
the  sand  is  followed  by  a  chalky  deposit  and  a  deep 
ocean  covers  the  whole  surface.  Millions  of  tiny 
creatures  live  in  its  depths  and  with  their  dead  bodies 
build  the  thick  beds  of  limestone.  Throughout  the 
Trias,  and  for  a  vast  period  before  the  Trias,  Hazara 
lay  beneath  the  sea.  Volcanic  outbursts  then  shook 
the  crust  and  lava  flowed  over  the  ocean  bed. 

The  sea  again  grows  shallow  and  the  waters  again 
recede  towards  the  north.  Shales  of  the  Jurassic  and 
the  Cretaceous  are  now  depositing  in  the  muddy  waters  ; 
ammonites,  belemnites  and  other  molluscs  flourish 
beneath  the  surface  and  fill  the  silt  with  their  remains. 
The  ocean  bed  oscillates,  now  shallow,  now  deep, 
at  one  time  accumulating  sand,  at  another  building  up 


GEOLOGICAL   SKETCH  '201 

beds  of  chalk.  At  length  it  rises  above  the  receding 
waters  and  again  appears  above  the  surface.  For  an 
unknown  period  it  stands  exposed,  worn  by  subaerial 
action  into  all  the  varied  shapes  that  mark  the  form  of 
the  land. 

Again  it  subsides.  A  third  time  the  waters  return 
and  the  Cretaceous  land  sinks  deeper  beneath  tlieir 
flow.  Shales  and  limestones  are  again  formed  in  the 
depths,  while  the  bed  of  the  sea  swarms  with  countless 
nummulites.  In  the  chalky  deposit  they  are  small 
and  not  so  numerous,  but  when  the  sea  grows  more 
shallow  and  the  darker  silt  settles  in  its  bed,  then  the 
nummulites  flourish  and  with  their  own  dead  bodies 
build  up  the  thickness  of  the  future  stone.  It  is  the 
Eocene  period,  and  the  main  bulk  of  the  limestone 
hills  is  being  slowly  laid  down. 

Then  comes  the  great  upheaval,  the  period  of 
mountain-building.  The  Central  Asian  sea  again 
recedes.  The  molten  granite  lying  dormant  beneath 
the  sediments  wells  upward  into  the  overlying  beds. 
It  intrudes  into  the  slates,  crushing  and  crystallizing 
them  and  forcing  upwards  into  crustal  folds  all  those 
vast  deposits.  Slowly,  perhaps  a  few  inches  a  year, 
they  rise  upwards  through  the  sea,  and  for  the  last  time 
Hazara  emeroes  from  the  ocean.  The  rain  denudt\s 
them,  rivulets  erode  them,  and,  as  they  rise  higher 
into  the  heavens,  the  snows  and  glaciers  mould  them 
into  rugged  ranges.  Sediments  are  swept  away  from 
their  summits,  and  in  the  great  peaks  the  intrusive 
granite  is  laid  bare.  Upheaving,  fracturing  and 
shaking  the  earth's  crust,  the  Himalaya  has  slowly 
risen  from  the  sea,  and  from  the  gentle  earthquakes 
that  almost  monthly  shake  Hazara,  it  seems  as  though 

U  2 


U92       A   NATURAtJST   IN    HTINTALAYA 

the  upheaval  was  still  in  progress  and  that  the  mighty 
mountains  were  not  yet  at  rest. 

Such  are  the  changes  that  this  valley  has  known 
through  the  long  period  of  its  history.  It  has  been 
involved  in  some  of  the  greatest  movements  that  have 
raised  or  lowered  the  surface  of  the  globe.  These 
movements  still  continue  and  the  valley  still  passes 
through  the  same  ceaseless  change.  Erosion  and 
sedimentation  work  unceasingly  on  every  side.  Rivers 
wind  through  the  broader  valleys,  depositing  sand 
from  the  higher  ranges  and  spreading  abroad  a  fertile 
soil.  Weatherworn  terraces  of  alluvium  indicate 
the  level  of  old  river  beds  and  provide  the  cultivator 
with  fields  of  luxuriant  harvest.  Other  rivers  erode 
narrow  gorges  through  which  they  rush  in  echoing 
roar.  Rivulets,  sparkling  beneath  the  clumps  of  pines, 
wear  their  own  litde  channels  into  the  granite  hills  ; 
streams  wash  the  pebbles  down  the  gentler  slopes,  and 
waterfalls  eat  into  the  rocky  ledges  to  fall  splashing 
into  the  torrent  below.  Glaciers  erode  the  higher 
mountains,  and  the  massive  boulders  in  the  lower 
valleys  indicate  the  vast  extent  of  country  once 
clothed  in  a  sheet  of  ice. 

Heat  and  cold,  rain  and  river,  frost  and  ice  are 
at  work  on  every  side  eroding,  levelling  and  sweeping 
down  the  mountains.  The  valleys  that  are  filling  and 
the  gorges  that  are  deepening  both  foretell  the  same 
destiny  ;  they  predict  the  building  of  a  plateau  of 
erosion,  the  lowering  of  the  mountains  to  the  level 
land. 

I  will  conclude  with  a  little  geological  observation 
that  somewhat  interested  me,  namely,  the  movement 
that  took  place  in  the  sand  on  the  bed  of  a  rapid  stream. 


GEOLOGICAL   SKETCH  203 

I  have  before  mentioned  an  old  fort  that  stood  near  the 
Black  Mountain.  A  gentle  stream  flowed  past  the  i^rini 
old  fort.  Its  waters  were  shallow  and  remarkably  clear. 
Its  bed  was  composed  of  sand  and  pebbles  all  in  con- 
tinual motion,  and  from  the  bank  it  was  easy  to  follow 
the  changes  that  occurred  as  all  the  grains  of  sand  were 
swept  onward  in  their  long  journey  to  the  sea. 

Grain  after  grain  the  little  crystals  rolled  along 
as  though  they  were  all  racing  for  the  ocean.  But 
there  was  some  method,  some  system  in  their  roll. 
The  smallest  fragments  were  swept  off  the  bed  of  the 
stream  to  be  dashed  about  in  the  gentle  eddies,  but 
the  larger  fragments  offered  a  more  stubborn  resist- 
ance. The  current  would  seize  one  of  these  larger 
granules,  hurry  it  onward,  turn  it  over  and  over 
amongst  its  fellows  so  as  to  smooth  off  its  sharp  edges 
and  projections.  It  is  swept  on,  but  soon  meets  an 
obstacle  in  its  path,  and  there  fixing  itself,  it  defies  the 
stream.  Smaller  granules  are  piled  up  against  it,  and 
an  ever-increasing  resistance  is  offered  to  the  waters. 
The  mass  grows  larger,  it  can  now  no  longer  withstand 
the  onset  of  the  current,  it  is  torn  up  and  swept 
onward  to  recommence  the  endless  roll.  The  white 
crystals  of  quartz  and  felspar  have  a  poor  chance  in 
their  contest  with  the  stream  ;  wherever  they  turn, 
however  they  roll,  the  water  can  seize  the  little  bulky 
crystal  and  ever  roll  it  on.  It  is  the  sparkling  grains 
of  mica,  though  light  and  fragile,  that  fight  with  the 
most  effect  against  the  current,  for  they  glide  in 
between  the  larger  pebbles  and  offer  their  sharp  edges 
to  the  stream.  So  does  each  grain  of  sand,  some 
slowly,  some  swiftly,  roll  along  the  river  bed. 

Not  only  were  all  the  little  sand-grains  rolling,  but 


294       A   NATURALIST   IN    HIMALAYA 

the  bed  of  the  stream  itself  was  rolling.  As  the  sand- 
dunes  of  the  desert  roll  in  waves  before  the  wind,  so 
was  the  sandy  bed  of  the  stream  rollino-  in  waves 
before  the  waters.  Parallel  folds  of  sand,  regular 
dunes  in  miniature,  crossed  the  bed  of  the  stream. 
Facing-  up  the  stream  each  fold  presented  a  gradual 
and  shelving  slope,  while  facing  down  the  stream  the 
slope  was  steep  and  perpendicular.  It  is  just  the 
same  as  in  the  desert  dune.  When  the  stream  flowed 
slowly  on,  layer  after  layer  of  sand  was  rolled  up 
the  gentle  slope  until  it  reached  the  summit  of  the 
fold,  when  it  poured  down  over  the  perpendicular  fall. 
Here,  sheltered  from  the  current  by  the  rising  summit 
of  the  fold  the  sand-grains  come  to  rest,  but  layer 
after  layer  pours  down  upon  them,  each  layer  covering 
the  preceding  one.  The  trough  in  front  of  the  fold 
thus  rises  higher  and  higher  as  the  sand  pours  down 
from  above,  until  at  length  what  was  once  a  calm 
recess  has  risen  to  be  the  summit  of  a  new  fold.  And 
thus  the  folds  move  onwards  by  the  downpour ing  sand 
always  building  up  a  new  summit  in  the  recess  in  front 
of  the  existing  summit.  They  move  by  the  same 
mechanism  as  that  which  sweeps  the  dunes  across  the 
desert.  Each  sand-grain  is  first  a  part  of  the  gentle 
slope,  then  of  the  summit  of  the  fold,  then  of  the 
perpendicular  fall,  then  lying  motionless  for  a  time 
in  the  calm  recess,  it  is  engulfed  beneath  the  down- 
pouring  sand  until,  as  the  wave  moves  onward,  it  is 
again  exposed,  again  rolled  on  by  the  untiring  stream, 
to  again  build  up  fold  upon  fold,  and  to  repeat 
hundreds  of  times  a  day  this  same  eternal  roll  till 
at  length  it  will  rest  in  peace  beneath  the  ocean. 

It    was  instructive    to    watch    the  motion  of  these 


GEOLOGICAL   SKETCH  295 

waves  of  sand.  The  summits  could  be  seen  crcepinor 
insidiously  onward,  pouring  down  the  smothering  sand 
and  engulfing  every  obstacle  in  their  relentless  path. 
They  were  a  real  miniature  of  the  sand-dunes  of  the 
desert  ever  rolling  onward  and  burying  beneath  their 
debris  the  cities  of  men.  I  calculated  the  rate  of 
movement  of  one  of  these  folds  and  estimated  that 
in  every  twenty-four  hours  it  advanced  down  stream 
one-sixteenth  of  a  mile  ;  and  though  one  glance  at  the 
moving  sand  shows  that  the  change  varies  in  rapidity 
in  different  parts  of  the  stream,  yet  it  is  perhaps  a  fair 
estimate  to  say  that  in  sixteen  days  every  mile  of 
the  bed  of  this  gentle  stream  has  been  rolled  another 
mile  nearer  to  the  sea. 

And  as  grain  rolls  upon  grain  and  layer  rolls  upon 
layer  to  build  up  a  fold  of  sand,  so  also  does  fold  roll 
upon  fold.  Smaller  folds  roll  up  the  gentle  slopes 
of  greater  folds  and  greater  folds  roll  down  on  smaller 
folds.  As  the  curling  crests  of  ocean  billows  pour 
down  their  foam  to  overwhelm  the  smaller  waves 
before  them,  so  do  the  larger  waves  of  sand  pour 
down  their  foam  of  granules  on  the  wavelets  that 
precede  them. 

Thus  grain  upon  grain,  layer  upon  layer,  fold  upon 
fold  is  rolling,  but  the  revolution  will  not  end  here. 
At  length  on  the  bed  of  the  ocean  the  sand-grains 
come  to  rest.  Vast  deposits,  thousands  of  feet  in 
thickness,  are  built  up  beneath  the  sea.  After  a 
long  lapse  of  time  the  strata  are  consolidated,  up- 
heaved, exposed  to  the  erosion  of  new  rivers  which 
again  roll  down  their  sand.  The  last  stratum  to 
be  deposited  will  be  the  first  to  be  denuded,  and 
the  fragments  of  each  older  stratum  will  be  laid  down 


296       A   NATURALIST   IN   HIMALAYA 

on  the  fragments  of  the  younger  ones.  Old  deposits 
will  be  piled  on  new  deposits,  and  thus  through 
countless  centuries  stratum  will  be  rolled  on  stratum. 

And  so  from  the  minute  sand-grain  to  the  mighty 
strata  inorganic  nature  is  revolving.  The  little 
crystal  in  the  brook,  the  pebble  in  the  stream,  the 
boulder  in  the  torrent,  layer  upon  layer  of  sand,  fold 
upon  fold,  stratum  upon  stratum,  all  are  rolling  onward 
in  one  endless  revolution. 

This  concludes  my  record  of  observations  in  the 
Himalayan  valley  of  Hazara.  I  trust  I  have  not 
cumbered  it  with  too  much  detail,  and  yet  hope  I  have 
been  able  to  add  something  to  the  substance  of  scien- 
tific fact.  The  reader  may  not  appreciate  how  much 
patience  is  needed  before  Nature  will  disclose  the 
methods  of  her  work.  He  who  would  pry  into  her 
secrets  must  face  failure  after  failure,  and  be  prepared 
for  many  hours  of  waiting  before  he  will  achieve  some 
slight  success.  It  is  the  record  of  those  patient  hours 
that  1  have  gathered  into  the  foregoing  pages.  I  will 
be  satisfied  if  the  account  of  them  should  give  to  others 
some  slight  degree  of  that  pleasure  and  satisfaction 
which  the  observation  of  them  has  given  to  me. 


INDEX 


Acantholepis  frattenfeldi,  conflict  with 
harvesters,  21  ;  migrations  of,  76,  77  ; 
experiments  on  migrating  instinct, 
77,  78 

Ammophila,  habits  of,  191  ;  blindness 
of  instinct,  192-195 

Anonychia  rostrifera,  205 

Ant  (refer  to  individual  species  oQ ; 
social  organization  of,  43,  Si 

Ant-lion,  habits  of,  232,  233 ;  construc- 
tion of  pit,  234 ;  violence  of  exer- 
tions ;  their  furrows  in  the  dust,  235 

Apis  dor  sat  a,  18 1 

Apis  indica,  attacked  by  V.  inagnijica, 
182,183 

Arachnectra  asiatica,  265 

Araneus  naiiiiais,  see  under  spiders, 
geometrical 

Argyope,  tufted  nature  of  filament,  90, 
118 

Artema,  contest  with  moth,  162  ;  reso- 
lution of,  162,  163 

AsilidiP,  mode  of  capturing  prey,  167, 
168 

Auloiera  brahminus,  protective  colora- 
tion, 198 

Balsam,  fertilized  by  humble-bees,  187 

Barbet,  nest  of,  267 

Barbus  tor,  in  sacred  tank,  176 

Bee-eaters,  capturing  butterflies,  208 

Birds,  259-279 

Birds  of  prey,  circling  flight  of,  272- 
279 

Bivalves,  distribution  of,  236-238 

Boarniia  admissaria,  protective  colora- 
tion, 204 

Boar/Ilia  granitaria,  protective  colora- 
tion, 204 

Boinbus  htrmorrhoidalis,  fertilizing 
strobilanthus,  185  ;  trace  of  old  in- 
stinct, 186;  fertilizing  balsam,  187 

Botnbus  tnnicatus,  resemblance  to  bom- 
bylius,  184 ;  general  appearance, 
184;  fertilizing  balsam,  1S7 

Bo})ibylius,  resemblance  to  Bombiis,  184 

Bulbul,  Punjab  red-vented,  260;  Hima- 
layan   black,    260 ;    white-cheeked, 


260  ;  habits  of,  261,  262  ;  attacking 
butterflies,  159,  160 
Butterflies,  species  in  Hazara,  196,  197; 
sexual  excitement,  197,  198;  pro- 
tective coloration  of,  195J-202  ; 
enemies  of,  207,  20S 

Caniponotus  compressus,  reseniblance 
to  digger-wasp,  183  ;  attacked  by 
harvesters,  34  ;  attitude  of  abdomen, 
75  ;  nuptial  flight,  79 ;  short  life  of 
males,  79 
CamponotMS  dokndus,    care   of    sexual 

forms  by  workers,  79,  80,  81 
Cat,  domestic,  emotions  of,  250,  256 
Chelidon  kashfuiricnsis,  nests  ot,  267 
Cicada,   209;    music  of,  210;   ap|)ear- 
anceof,  211  ;  habits  of,  211;  musical 
organs  of,  211-217;  experiments  on, 
213-216 
Communicating  Ants,  61,  64-66,  74,  75 
Crabs,   freshwater,  mode  of  capturing 

food,  166,  167 
Creniastogastcr,  attitude    of  abdomen, 

75.  76 
Cretaceous,  of  Hazara,  286,  287,  291, 

292 
Cyanops  asiatica,  nest  of,  267 
Cyclosa,    protective   resemblance,   145, 

146 

Darwin,  84,  231,  237,  240.  257 

Dicrurns  alcr,  vision  of,  264 

Digger-wasp,  resemblance  to  C.  com- 
pressus,  183  (also  see  Aminophild) 

Division  of  labour  amongst  harvesting 
ants,  19-23  ;  in  tnyn/uroiysttis,  46- 
48,  57.  58 ;   in  phidole  ants,  62,  72- 

74 
Dophla  patahi,  resemblance  to  leaves, 

201  ;  contrast  with  melaiiitis,  202 
Drongo,  attack  kites,   209  ;  vision  of, 

264 

Elephant,  force  of  inMinct  in,  157 
Eocene,  deposits  in  Hazara,  28S 
Epeira    (see    details     under     Spiders, 
geometrical) 


297 


298 


INDEX 


Eumettcs  diiiiidialipennis,  189 ;  nest 
construction,  190 

Fahre,  experiments  on  spider's  snare, 
142,  143  ;  observations  on  tarantula, 
153  ;    observations   on    amtnopkila, 

Feigning  death,  in  spiders  and  insects, 
158,  159;   in  buttcirty,  159,  160 

Flying-squirrel,  tameness,  240 ;  func- 
tion of  tail,  241-243 

Geology,  of  Ilazara,  280-297 

Glow-worm  (see  Lampyiis) 

Gnophus  acciptraria,  protective  colora- 
tion, 203 

Gno/'hus  variegata,  205 

Gonepteryx  rhamni,  sexual  excitement, 
198 

Harvesting  ants,  nature  of  formicary, 
II  ;  appearance  of  ants,  12  ;  altitu. 
dinal  distribution,  12  ;  excavation  of 
formicary,  13  ;  emergence  of  sexual 
forms,  13  ;  gathering  of  seeds,  15, 
16;  division  of  labour,  16;  rejection 
of  moist  seeds,  17  ;  conveyance  of 
leaf-like  seeds,  17  ;  effect  of  sun, 
cold,  heat,  17;  effect  of  shade,  rain, 
iS;  cessation  of  work,  19;  division 
of  labour,  19 ;  duties  of  soldiers, 
20  ;  duties  of  special  workers,  22  ; 
instances  of  division  of  labour,  23  ; 
sense  of  smell,  24,  25,  26;  pugnacity 
of  soldier,  25  ;  funereal  duties,  27  ; 
experiments  on  sense  of  direction, 
28-30 ;  power  of  communication, 
31,  32  ;  play  and  sport,  33  ;  defence 
of  nest,  34 ;  tender  emotions,  35  ; 
economy  in  collected  grain,  35  ; 
migration,  36;  experiments  on  in- 
stinct, 37  ;  errors  in  instinct  38  • 
hostility  to  comrades,  38  ;  poverty  of 
intelligence,  39,  40 ;  example  ol 
folly,    41  ;     life    of    socialism,    42, 

43 
Himalayan  granite,  281-283 
whistling   thrush,    nest   of,   266, 

267 
Hippasa,     entanglement     in     circular 

snare,  143 
Hippasa     olivacea,     151     (see     Sheet- 
building  spiders) 
Hive-bee,  resemblance  to  potrstes,  181  ; 

attacks  by    V.  magnifica,    182,    183; 

inability     to     perforate     corolla     of 

flowers,  188,  189 
Humble-bees,  fertilizing  flowers,  185- 

189 


Tmpatiens      scabrida,       fertilized       by 

humble-bees,  187 
Infra-Trias,  series  in  Hazara,  284,  285 
Instinct,  in  harvesting  ants,  15  ;  in- 
stances in  harvesting  ants,  37,  38  ; 
in  spiders,  113,  114;  of  geometrical 
spiders,  125-139  ;  of  hippasa,  152, 
153;  force  in  hippasa,  155,  156; 
blunderings  of,  156-158;  of  bees 
and  wasps,  177-195  ;  of  monkeys, 
245-247;  in  bulbuls,  260,  261  ;  in 
biids,  261  ;  of  paradise  flycatchers, 
263  ;  of  barbet,  267  ;  of  martins, 
267,  268 

Jutionia    orithya,   sexual    excitement, 

197 
Jurassic,  of  Hazara,  286,  291 

KaUimn  innchtts,  199-201 
Kashmir  martin,  nest  of,  267,  268 
Kites,  tumbling  in  air,   270;   circling 
flight  of,  272-279 

Lammergeyer,    tumbling    in   air,    270, 

271 
Lampyris,  habits  of,  21S  ;  luminosity, 

219-223  ;  experiments  on,  220-222  ; 

attack  on  snails,  223-225 
Leaf-cutting  bees,  construction  of  nest, 

189 
Leopard,  contentment,  248  ;  fear,  249 ; 

anger,    rage,     251  ;    distress,     252  ; 

eagerness,   253,  254  ;  attention,  255, 

256  ;  affection,  256-258 
Lihythea  myrrha,  feigning  death,  159, 

160-208;  resemblance  to  leaves,  199 

Mammals,  of  Hazara  district,  239-258 
Megachile    cet>halotes,    construction    of 

nest,    189 
Melanitis,  resemblance  to  leaves,  200, 

201  ;  contrast  with  dophla,  202 
Merops  persicus,   capturing   butterflies, 

208 
Meswr  harbarus  (see    Communicating 

ants) 
Migration,   f)f  acantholepis,  21,  76-78; 

of  harvesting  ants,  36  ;  of  myrmeco- 

cystus,  53  ;  oi phidole  ants,  73,  74 
Mimicry,  digger-wasps  and  campouotus 

coMpressus,   183  ;    bombus  and   bom- 

by  lilts,  184 
Molpastes  (fice.  Bulbul). 
Monkey,  force  of  instinct,  157  ;  Bengal 

monkey,  243-247 
Moth,  prey  of  asi/id,   168 ;  protective 

coloration,    203-207 ;     enemies    of, 

207 


INDEX 


291) 


Mud-wasps    (see    Eiimenes  dimidiati- 

pcniiis). 
Myiophoneus  temmincki,  nest  of,  266 
Mylabris,  feigning  death,  158 
AIy7-m€cocystits  setipes,  distribution,  44  ; 
general  appearance,  45  ;  predaceous 
nature,  45  ;  habit  of  kicking  back 
earth,  46  ;  division  of  labour,  47  ; 
closure  of  nest  at  night,  47,  48  ;  ants 
as  sanitarians,  48  ;  thoughtlessness  of 
instinct,  49 ;  food  of  ant,  49  ;  store 
their  dead  in  nest,  50 ;  sense  of 
smell,  50 ;  acuteness  of  vision,  50, 
51  ;  erection  of  abdomen,  51 ;  absence 
of  sympathy,  52  ;  transfer  of  workers 
from  nest  to  nest,  53  ;  intelligence, 
54-57;  platform  at  nest,  55,  56; 
rampart  round  nest,  57  ;  folly,  58, 
59 ;  indulgence  in  useless  labour, 
59  ;  folly  and  intelligence  of  ants, 
59 

NotonectidcT,  predaceous  habits,  169 ; 
habit  of  submergence,  169;  nature  of 
prey,  169;  mode  of  swimming,  170; 
special  senses  of,  171-173  ;  move- 
ments on  land,  174 

Nummulitic  series,  287 

Nytha  faiisatis,  protective  coloration, 
198 

Oiuotyinpana  ohmibila,  211   (also    see 

Cicada) 
Oxen,  force  of  instinct,  158 

Pallas's  fishing  eagles,  tumbling  in  air, 

271 
Pap! Ho,  species  in  Hazara,  196,  197 
Paradise  flycatcher,  attack  on  butterflies, 
208  ;  appearance  of,  262,  263  ;  nest 
of,  263  ;   young  of,  263,  264  ;  skill 
of,  264 
Pctaurista inoriiata  (see  Flying-squirrel) 
Phidole  indica,  power  of  communication, 
60-72 ;    varieties     of    workers,    60 ; 
general  characters,  61 ;  discovery  and 
removal  of  prey,  61-63  ;  power  to  call 
out  swarm,  64  ;  imperfection  of  com- 
municating    instinct,     64 ;     reserve 
swarms  in  nest,  65  ;  experiments  on 
faculty    of    communication,    66-68 ; 
power  of  scent,  69  ;  each  ant  has  a 
distinctive  scent,  69,    70  ;    duties  of 
soldiers,  71  ;  division  of  labour,  72  ; 
soldiers  defending  nest,  73  ;  migration, 
73  ;  variability  of  senses,  74,  75 
Phosphorescent  animals,  218-225 
Platylomia  hrevis,  211  (see  Cicada) 
Palisieshebraeus^  in  spider's  spvire,  152  ; 


mode    of   cooling   nest,    180,    181  ; 
resemblance  to  hive-bee,  iSi 
Pompilid,  resemblance  to  C  compressus, 

Preshytis  schistaccus,  247,  248 
Protective  coloration,  in  spiders,   145, 

146 ;    of    butterflies,     19S-203  ;    of 

moths,  203-207 

Ravens,  tumbling  in  air,  270 
Rooks,  tumbling  in  air,  270 
Ruviex  hastatiiSy  17 

Sand,  in  mountain  stream,  293-299 

Satyrus  schakra,  protective  coloration, 
198 

Scavenger-vulture,  tumbling  in  air,  271 

Schists,  of  Ilazara,  283,  284 

Senses,  special,  of  harvesting  ants,  24- 
31  ;  of  inyrniecocystits,  50,  51  ;  of 
geometrical  spiders,  146-149 ;  of 
hippasa,  154, 155  ;  of  water-boatmen, 
171-174 

Slieet-building  spiders,  nature  of  web, 
150;  not  entangled  in  snare,  151  ; 
spiders  and  weather,  152  ;  instinct  in 
seizing  prey,  152,  153;  injection  of 
poison,  153,  154;  senses  of  vision 
and  touch,  154,  155;  forceof  instinct, 
156  ;  feigning  death,  158  ;  snare  pre- 
vents evaporation,  160,  161 

Shells,  mode  of  dispersal,  236-23S 

Siinia  rhesus,  243-247  ;  habits,  244, 
245  ;  instincts,  246,  247 

Snails,  prey  of  lampyris,  223-225 

Snare,  geometrical,  architecture,  85-S9; 
construction  of  foundation  lines,  85, 
86;  of  radii,  86;  of  hub,  87;  of 
temporary  spiral,  87  ;  of  viscid  spiral, 
87  ;  nature  of  first  filament,  90 ; 
symmetry  of  radii,  91,  92  ;  radius  a 
double  line,  93,  94  ;  function  of  hub, 
94,95  ;  geometry  of  tempdraryspiral, 
96,  97  ;  of  viscid  spiral,  98-106;  of 
first  turn  of  viscid  spiral,  98  ;  experi- 
ments on  viscid  spiral,  99-103  ;  dis- 
appearance of  temporary  spiral,  108, 
109;  reversal  of  spiral,  110-I16; 
potentiality  of  snare,  121  ;  repair,  126, 
127  ;  experiments  of  dividing  bridges, 
12S-132;  of  severing  radii,  132-134; 
of  dividing  viscid  spiral,  134,  135  ; 
of  removal  of  complete  spiral,  136; 
interchange  of  snares,  139-142;  vis- 
cidity and  nnn-viscidity  of  lines,  142, 
143  ;  power  to  disintegrate  rays  of 
light,  161  (also  see  details  under 
Spiders,  geometrical) 

Sparrow,  plasticity  of  instinct,  261 


300 


INDEX 


Spiders,  geometrical,  appearance  of,  83  ; 
snares  of  different  species,  85  ;  emis- 
sion of  first  filament,  89  ;  mode  of 
testing  radii,  91,  92;  of  estimating 
distance  between  radii,  92  ;  persever- 
ance in  architecture,  96 ;  fore-limb 
as  an  organ  of  measurement,  100 ; 
amputation  of  legs,  104  ;  sense  of 
touch,  115,  116;  tension  the  stimulus 
to  reversal,  115,  116;  energy  of 
spider,  116;  industry,  117  ;  emission 
of  filaments,  118;  destruction  of 
snare,  120  ;  spiders  and  weather,  124, 
125  ;  experiments  showing  slavery  to 
instinct,  127-139;  inability  to  recog- 
nize its  own  snare,  142  ;  mode  of 
escape,  144;  protective  resemblance, 
145  ;  special  senses,  146-149  (also 
see  details  under  Snare,  geometrical) 

Sirobilanthns  dalhoiisianus,  fertilized  by 
humble-bees,  185 

Sun-biid,  purple,  feeding  habits  of, 
265,  266 

Termites,  escape  from  nest,  226  ;   de- 


struction of,  226-228  ;  time  of  flight, 
229;  ascent  to  great  heights,  229; 
sense  of  direction,  230  ;  simultaneous 
emergence  from  many  nests,  230, 
231  ;  shedding  of  wings,  231  ;  segre- 
gation into  pairs,  232 

TerpsipJione  paradisi  (see  Paradise 
flycatcher) 

Tctragnatha,  interchange  of  snares, 
139-142;  protective  resemblance, 
145  (also  see  details  under  Spiders, 
geometrical) 

Tetramo}-ii<m,  instance  of  folly,  42 

Trias,  in  Hazara,  285,  286,  291 

Vespa  7i!a^mfiia,  depredations  on  hive- 
bees,  182,  183 

Vespa  orieit talis,  stream  of  insects,  177  ; 
nature  of  food,  178,  179;  ventilation 
of  nest,  179;  sentinel  over  nest,  179 

Water-boatmen  (see  Notonectidae) 
Water-scorpion,    captures   water-boat- 
men, 169 
Weevils,  feigning  death,  159 


FRiNTED  IN  Great  Britain  by  Richard  Clay  &  Sons,  Limited, 
BRUNSWICK  ST.,  STAMFORD  ST.,  S.E.  i,  AND  tUNGAY,  SUFFOLK. 


Miiiimiiiuiniiiiiiitiiiiiiummiiiiiiij 

North  Carolina  State  University  Libraries 

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NATURALIST  IN  HIMAUYA 


